The Rose
Infatuation one cold winter fell
like flower blossoms white to frigid ground.
The secrets that I’d never dared to tell
lay buried like the earth beneath each mound.
An awful truth so haunted me I hid
it underneath the softness of new snow,
and when I’d come to think that I was rid
of it, your love for me began to grow.
That love, like sun, shone fully; soon I felt
your strong desire to understand my heart.
You saw, when you had made the first snow melt,
the ground laid bare. . . it tore us not apart!
From sunlight, passion’s snow, and naked earth
was white spring rose I write of given birth.
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