Slowly grew the bud in the ageing fall
All other blooms well past
Just one left – the last
The last rose of the year
Out from my dining room window
Every morning taking measure
Of progresses well scented slow pleasure
Yet doubting the fruit would come to bare
But slowly the green did part
A hint of yellow peaking –
Forth from beneath the marching days
But a freeze was drawing near
And it bit deep into the earth
The leaves of the plant blackening
Leafless trees saddening
The yellow dimming in despair
Yet the flower, still a bud
With tentative yellow staring through
Winter breathing glistening dew
The blossom apparently unaware
That no other bloom would keep company
No bees blessing her petals
Nor the plants sustaining mettle
For the rose came to appear
She bloomed slowly as I watched
Over many a mornings coffee
Strong and stubborn, beloved and dainty
A lonely point of color suspended in air
Her tones pale and mellow
Her scent soft, if not awry
And she was small in precise symmetry
And beautiful beyond compare
And still the rose is on exhibit
Basking in a sea of mottled browns
Casually radiant in Winter's gown
In full bloom without a care.
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A/N:
Every morning while having my breakfast cereal i would wonder at this stubborn flower just out the window. It is these small things in life that add so much texture and depth to our reality. Keep your senses keen and patient and savor our world.
Peace,
-DarthPadre
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Maximum Exposure
PoetryThis is a continuation of 'Exposed'. There is no theme per se, just poems i have written over the years. If you see something you like please vote, comment and share. If you think you see one of those one in a hundred poems, shoot me a note, i'm...
