A Winter Rose
The East wind chill had given sign,
the bright lucid sky had illustrated
that a change in landscape might occur.
And early morning, just at five,
I peered through curtains
sensing, with chill, a brightness
in the garden.
A whitened garden.
All a blanket of soft early snow,
untouched except for footsteps
of the urban fox,
as if prints in desert.
The bird bath frozen,
now a skating rink for thrush,
at home the Robin.
The church tower,
a backdrop for film set or seasons
Cleaning the inner pane
for better vantage point
I saw the rose shrub, once in
in summer flush,
then bright blue sky,
now, under moon,
still, that garden rose,
stands, red and imperial
In the early morning.
first winter snow, undisturbed.
a rose significant in its poise.
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