Sunday, April 4, 2021

poem 58

tiny rose slept all summer as if dead

with stubborn dull twigs and stillborn thorns

but autumn cloaked her stiffness in red going green

on winter solstice she birthed a single white furl

somehow she refuses wilting and welcomes the new

year’s somnolent sub-freezing days and cracking nights

she embraces the icy sun’s slowly stretching yellow lights

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