Summer's Rose

Summer’s Rose



In the heart of winter,

when crystalline snow blankets the North,

and the icy winds blow,

Hope remains.



Delicate black blanches reach out,

thorns exposed, ever watchful . . . .

Protective of the beauty stored deep within,

below the surface,

invisible to those who don’t know the secrets

among its roots,

cradled by the earth.

Still, quiet, reserved,

but not without power.



For Spring always comes—

that is the promise.

And the snows melt.

The Time of Rebirth for life itself.

Hope prevails.



First the tiniest shiny leaf,

then a showing of brilliant glossy green,

defying its dormant past

and reveling in its resurrection.

Life affirmed.



The smallest buds of exquisite subtle beauty,

a gift for those who waited, knowing . . . .

Unhurried.

Cautious.

Ready for the world.





Outer petals of dazzling fuchsia,

carefully guarding

the softest champagne pink.

Hope held dear, close to its heart,

not yet ready to unveil the bloom

that is its dream.







Kissed by the drops of dawn and bathed in the sun,

it leans toward warmth, finding balance.

A gift for those who stop and get close enough

to inhale this most sincere thank you to God.

The sweetness.

Purity.

Love.



Those who know, those who see it

nurtured, tended, through the harshest chilling months

see the fullest blooms.

Petals open, hearts exposed,

revealing

a color that surpasses words.

Joy, without expectation.

Glory.



At the end of summer, the petals fall

as the winds return.

They catch the breeze and travel the rivers,

floating toward the sea.

But the essence that is the rose remains

as the snows return.

Nature’s cycle,

the promise held dear.

Summer’s Rose.