The Blood Red Rose

The roses blood red,

grew in her garden,

day and day out.

Their perfume wafted about,

blood red roses,

that delighted the eye -

grew graciously.

She’d often sit,

in the garden,

admiring their majesty.

Summer came and went,

quickly that year,

the roses that were so dear -

seemed to wither on the trellis.

Until only one remained,

as the autumn leaves fell,

it valiantly held position,

all around in colors of

orange, yellow and red

one blood red rose -

fighting to stay alive.

As the north winds blew in,

she watched from her window,

as that rose swung along,

with the winds swirling about.

It didn’t wither,

didn’t lay its head down,

she wondered when it would die,

sadly knowing that it must be soon.

Then one day,

the gray, leaden sky,

opened up wide,

silvery, lacy snowflakes -

came dancing upon the wind.

They swirled about,

in a wild dance,

soon a blanket of white,

was upon the ground.

She went to see the last rose,

there upon the white snow,

was the blood red rose,

like a spot of blood,

on the pristine white,

but she smiled just knowing,

that the rose would grow again

and be the queen of her summer days.