The Last Rose of December
The last rose open looks up towards the sky.
The sky does not look down but only spreads
Itself. The flower unspeaking asks for dry
December breezes. Fallen, other heads
Speak silently from death and ground to say
The coolness will not save the staring flower.
It too will lose its grip and fall away.
A wind will come to wither and to shower
It, bitterness of sleet and freezing rain.
Of course these petals cannot see the sun.
Of course the blossom cannot feel pink pain
Or think that death will conquer everyone.
The fragrance of this winter rose has past
And next will come the new year’s promised blast.
~ Phillip Whidden
by phillipw | May 25, 2024 | Uncategorized |