Tentatively by the fading
Of a grey winter morning light
The pale rose bud slowly opens
To the cold misty dew.
Shyly unfurling itself
Denuding its heart to the cold teeth of the wind
Against which its thorns are no defence
At this time of the year
No heavy perfume wavers in the air
Its display will last only a few hours at most
Long enough it's true
To receive compliments and admiration
For its own determination
To share its own beauty
Before burning from the heavy frost
Curious to see such a marvel
A rose in winter.
L. C. Bailliet
All rights reserved
No comments:
Post a Comment