You must not -ever- forget,
Spring is just around the corner.


With Spring comes
Warmth,
Rain
And young rose buds.
Who open their shells
To bask beneath sunlight
And display their bright colours.


They are far from foolish.
When blistering wind and frost
Swallow the land,
They nestle their delicate petals
Within their shells
Placing trust
In their thorns
For protection.


But, come Spring;
They will flourish once again.
Having become far more vibrant,
Their fragrance sweeter
With magnified youth.


This youth I speak of,
Has no relation to age.
For these rose buds have been
Battered,
Bruised and
Scarred.
Age is not important.
This youth
Is seen in each newly gained
Spark of hope,
Shimmer of love
And strength
Received while buried beneath snow.


Tales are still told:
They have become the word of legend
During bitter winters.
No, my dear,
These tales aren't expressed through words.
They drift from the shriveled lips
Of the Wise Oak,
Who has been stripped bare
During Autumn,
As he whispers encouragement
To new generations of
Rose buds.
For he,
Witnessed the legendary roses
Battle then thrive,
Battle then thrive...
Year after year.
And he hopes
The tales
Will help these frightened
Rose buds survive.


Lets hope,
They won't forget:
Spring is just around the corner.

l.v.s