Saturday, November 28, 2009

The Last Rose

A neglected garden
Cold air proves
The suns promise
A saddening lie

A bud sprouts
Looking to live
To show its beauty
In this wintry grip

Will it bloom
To brighten this place
Giving some hope
In this harsh home

Or will the cold
Make it whither
Denying all a chance
To see it bloom

It makes me smile
To cheer it on
But I know inside
Its fate is sealed

How funny is it
This comedy of life
That a simple flower
Can mean so much

You’ll never read this
I know that’s true
But believe what I say
Forever…and a day

2 comments:

  1. So bittersweet this place of reality and hope. We'll always keep looking for the early winter bloom against all odds.

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  2. Reading your comment, I realize how much I miss your writing - the way you express an idea, the way you turn a phrase.

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