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Beneath the moon’s soft, silver glow,
A rose in the garden begins to show—
Velvet petals, crimson and deep,
A beauty that haunts, a beauty that keeps.

Its fragrance, a spell, pulls the heart near,
Yet whispers of caution echo clear.
“This bloom is not yours, it’s rooted in ties;
To pluck it would doom, to touch it denies.”

Temptation lingers, sweet and strong,
A melody humming, a siren’s song.
The thorns gleam sharp, their warning plain,
Yet desire burns, ignoring the ***.

What is it about what isn’t ours,
That draws like moths to forbidden stars?
A fleeting thrill, a hollow chase,
Leaving scars in love’s sacred space.

Respect the rose, admire its grace,
But know your touch is a dangerous place.
For some treasures shine to teach restraint—
A reminder that love should honor, not taint.