With thine hand,
Touch ever so softly,
The petals of that delicate rose
And pluck it not,
For out of lustful greed,
Thine finger will draw,
That very hue of love.

With thine lips,
Blow ever so gently,
On that candle's dancing flame
And squander it not,
For out of callous speech,
Thine breath shall quench,
That very heat of passion.

With thine eyes,
Peer ever so earnestly,
Into that fragile glass
And pierce it not,
For out of deluded gaze,
Thine stare will shatter,
That very image of trust.

With thine heart,
Love and love again,
With careful resolve
And in fullness delivered,
For the rose has its thorns,
The candle's flame is quick to wane,
And the glass bears markings.