My seed carries a magic key, and when I bloom, you'll surly see. Gracefully, I'll open up, and the scent of heaven fills your cup. I've many faces, both big and small, and they silently sing love's known call. I'm a delicate symbol living in time; I tend to follow prose and rhyme. I may be left as a clue, given to one, but passed by two. Sometimes I shower those with fame, letting them know they've won the game. But I can be sharp if held without care, I've daggers hidden almost everywhere. You may see me waiting in a bunch, perhaps I'll appear while you're having lunch. I could be scattered along the way, marking a path to brighten your day. I've colors galore, though one stands out, and that's why the Queen's likely to shout. If cut for you, I'll spin your head, just ask the cards why I'm red.
What am I? Answer: Roses!