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Rated: E · Poetry · Other · #1395405
I have a rose that I do not tend. I spoke with it some time ago and was told it's story.
Buffeted by icy winds
Probing every crevice
Chilling to the core
Beauty trapped under ice

Said to be out of time
Too early and
Out of place
Crimson on a white canvas

Light petals raining
Dripping onto a wet snow
Winds carry the scarlet crumbs away

Nosey brown nubs remain
Peaking out of the slush
Their color sapped

Snow capped thorns and
Crumpled leaves linger
Awaiting warmer times

Through the ice and snow
Through the wind
The rose remains
Because that’s the thing about winter roses
We survive
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