It Is Not Time For the Roses To Bloom

It is not time for the roses to bloom, The wind whistles a chilly melody, Clouds veiling the scarlet moon, Grass field beneath snow’s custody, And yet, a rose I see, everyday. Her scent fills the blank page, The pipe’s smoke refuses to pine, Silent night seals the cottage, Candlelight brighter than sunshine, And yet, a rose I see, everyday. I sleep and wait spring to come, alike the bees in their hive, The snowman in his glass dome longing to be shaken alive, And yet, a rose I see, everyday. There must be flowers on winter, the gardens may be lost again, the dragon winged sprinter Is quiet, bounded by a frost chain, And yet, a rose I see, everyday. The ice is cracking on the lake, Near the aspen tree mound. A squirrel is startled awake By the howling wolf sound, And yet, a rose I see, everyday. A rose I see, everyday, and yet, in her flowerbed she stays, the petals I can kiss and pet, even if her season is faraway, because, a rose I seek, everyday.