Winter’s Rose

Whose thorn is silver gilded

and petal softer than

cherub’s cheeks? Whose

passion is more crimson

than bleeding scarlet

and the piercing of a

perfect sacrifice? Whose

fragrance is sweeter than

angel’s breath and whose

crushing with alabaster

mortar and pestle yields

a heavenly myrrh mixed of

earth’s marrow and eternity’s

Crystal Sea? Winter’s last

rose has become spring’s

foretaste of glory —

an old, old story

told new.

©Bonnie Saul Wilks

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