64506: On Finding Myself A Soldier

My bud was backward to unclose,
A pretty baby-queen,
Furled petal-tips of creamy rose
Caught in a clasp of green.
Somehow, I never thought to doubt
That when her heart should show
She would be coloured in as out,
Like the flush of dawn on snow:
But yesterday aghast I found,
Where last I'd left the bud,
Twelve flamy petals ringed around
A heart more red than blood.