The Two Roses

The winter rose
Jaded,
Faded,
Her petals blackened and shrivelled,
Drying in the dirt,
Like the leftover echoes of summer, leave the garden
Jaded,
Faded,
A mere echo of herself,
No colours to wear in bright palette,
Thorns stark against the sky, emptiness, a reminder,
Jaded,
Faded,
Till spring returns, again,
And the rose can be not
Jaded,
Faded,
But be new and bright and whole-
Strong and yet so fragile,
Like glitter-glass spun steel.

The summer rose,
New,
True,
Petals a bright array,
Sprays of scarlet and crimson
Grace that slim and slender stem,
New,
True,
Her, herself, and she,
Vivid and wild, fierce and free,
Thorns disguised behind beauty, love and life against sky,
New,
True,
Eventually to fade,
Swift mortality to fall and then rise again,
New,
True,
To fade and wither and die,
Petals to fall like snow to the ground,
Like broken dreams, to yet spring anew.