Poetry

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Rose of Life



The leaves turn tawny against Fall golden sky.
No more blossoms as Winter prepares to pass by.
"Hurry!" says the Gardner, "Gather ye
rose buds while ye may."*
For the season has come, to precision prune,
and cast briars and brambles away.

"It has been a fruitful and blessed season," says the Gardner, "but the best is yet to come."
For, only He knows, deep down beneath,
within the quieted heart,
this is where the real work is done.

Dark and dormant wintry cold,
lays hold of roots and heart.
Suddenly, branches stretch forth,
they reach for the sun and scream
as new life breaks bark.

The rain subsides and melts,
as bright shines on ice.
The warm ground hugs the shrubs,
and the Gardner gently and
subtly encourages, 'till suffice.

New life emerges, as green outshines
brown and thorn.
New buds and blossoms form,
a pastel palette of bouquets,
for the Gardner to behold and adorn.

*Robert Herrick

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