Summer's Rose by Cynthia E.P. Tveit
In the heart of winter,
when crystalline snow blankets the North,
and the icy winds blow,
Delicate black blanches reach out,
thorns exposed, ever watchful . . . .
Protective of the beauty stored deep within,
below the surface,
invisible to those who don’t know the secrets
among its roots,
cradled by the earth.
Still, quiet, reserved,
but not without power.
For Spring always comes--
that is the promise.
And the snows melt.
The Time of Rebirth for life itself.
First the tiniest shiny leaf,
then a showing of brilliant glossy green,
defying its dormant past
and reveling in its resurrection.
The smallest buds of exquisite subtle beauty,
a gift for those who waited, knowing . . . .
Ready for the world.
Outer petals of dazzling fuchsia,
the softest champagne pink.
Hope held dear, close to its heart,
not yet ready to unveil the bloom
that is its dream.
Kissed by the drops of dawn and bathed in the sun,
it leans toward warmth, finding balance.
A gift for those who stop and get close enough
to inhale this most sincere thank you to God.
Those who know, those who see it
nurtured, tended, through the harshest chilling months
see the fullest blooms.
Petals open, hearts exposed,
a color that surpasses words.
Joy, without expectation.
At the end of summer, the petals fall
as the winds return.
They catch the breeze and travel the rivers,
floating toward the sea.
But the essence that is the rose remains
as the snows return.
the promise held dear.