The First Flower

It was springtime in the garden. Just passed, the winter snows. When first I walked the pathway. Along it's barren rows. Late in spring, in early morn, through chance I happen by. I glimpsed a newly blossomed rose, it's beauty caught my eye. It's bloom was so compelling, it seemed to draw me near. The depth of it's allurement, made the others seem austere. It's dew drenched velvet petals, with color's brandy red. Were as soft to the fingers' touch, as silk on feathered bed. It's essence more alluring, than any there that grew. No flowers of the garden, could match it's vivacious hue. Came summer to the garden, my rose was full in bloom. And the lovers' in the garden, were drawn to it's perfume. Throughout the summer day's ahead, it's beauty did unfold. Until at last, at summers end, the nights were getting cold. And the color's of my lovely rose, began to slowly fade. And as the summer slipped away, I somehow felt betrayed. Again the winter snows came. The garden stark and bare. But come the spring, as God intends, my rose afresh, be there.