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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.
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