The Rose

Frozen in my memory like the last frost of winter I find out sadly how a red rose can give a splinter When the chapped lips of love lose their honey, there is no one there to make December sunny Dozens of red roses appearing in loom, hindsight from the one who has grown them without lament From a woman ignited by passion, claiming right To an existent gasp of daylight, his love's indent Woven in golden threads, it was a life well spent my heart blooms every day with sweet roses red life was good as a garden grew beneath our tent until winter arrived, then everything went dead Thawing in my memory is a rose that didn't die it harbors still the kiss, of a virgin's piercing cry Blistering winds arrive, when a gardener desists, A once pure red rose without Him, cannot exist . Dec 12, 2021