A winter white rose
As if she dares the pending snow
to steal her royal garb.
Ringed with velvet petals
Her heart is crazy bold.
As if she holds off passing time
She chafes against the cold.
Frailer blooms have bowed their heads.
To dark and murderous winter’s doom.
The season’s taken many things
It’s chill-expected toll.
Her fragrance wanes.
Her spine now curves in weakened pain.
With dignity she wakes each morn
Single tear-petals drip past thorns
On their journey to the ground.
One winter white rose
Know’s not her season to expire.
Wakes each morn with lovely valor.
Life lies dormant.
Salvation writhes between closed pages.
Aged, old of fathers’ past,
“Obsolete,” accuse the ignorant.
Red words bleed between the lines,
Of promises aged, old
Sworn by a Father of no beginning.
Thick, shimmery leaves
Opposite loosed, leather binding.
Tattered from a history of love.
A name worn from its face
Declares value to treasuring fingers.
Aged, old, now gone.
Slipped form limbs and belligerence
To a world promised
Sworn by a Father of no genesis.
Composed for Gooseberry Garden weekly poetry challenge.
Image borrowed from: http://ourjourneywestward.com/tag/nature-journals/