A Red Rose sticks out from between two stone,
So bright this Rose that's blossoming here.
Reaching between two great stones for a trickle of light,
Pleading with it's petals like hands clasped praying.
Such a curious and unique flower sits there.
Across a stream that flits by unassuming,
Content to flow by this beautiful rose trapped by stone,
Reaching for light so that it may be free.
The leaves have fallen and the sun is grown weak,
It falls from the sky like it was fleeing the thought.
That if it hung any longer it would not have the strength,
to lay itself down to rest for the night.
It has grown cold for my Rose; red and shaking
as bits of snow lick at its petals on their way to the ground.
Alas! The stones have lost their grip and the Rose starts to dip
slowly toward the stream to escape in it's powerful current.
As the Rose reaches the water's edge against the silent snow,
Ice is all that awaits the Red Rose that has wilted in the cold.
I step out of the wood and walk across the ice,
That contains the powerful flow of water like a plexiglass prison.
I have never met a stream so unassuming and ignorant
To the beauty that is 'bout to be forever lost
When as I'm bending to lift the frozen Red, Beautiful Rose
The sun strikes up into the air like a match and burns with such white hot intensity
That it melts the ice upon the stream.
Where I stand.
As I am swiftly swept away in the cool water, my eyes fall
for a minute.
on the Red Rose which has risen again:
October 7th, 2011
Copyright © Robert Dixon