The Roses Took A Beating
The roses took a beating,
Their hope at best was poor.
Icy winds that burned them,
Ravaged, scoured and tore.
Hail stones stripped and bruised them,
Their essence felt no more.
Bent and broken, browns and grays,
Thin shadows of their lives before.
The cruelties of winter,
Brighten to the promised green.
Tiny sprouts are on the roses,
Newborn hope can now be seen.
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Comments about this poem (The Roses Took A Beating by Connie Yost )
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