The roses bloom in summer’s light,
Thinking not of winter’s sight,
The first frost comes in the night,
Shriveled, lifeless, petal’s blight,
As always it has been,
Death comes quick, skeletal hand,
Grasps it all, as hourglass sand,
Life to wither, nothing to stand,
Ice covers all, across the land,
We know what happens then,
The sun’s fire, tilts her head,
The time has passed for the dead,
We must rise up, to live instead,
I raise my eyes, that’s what I said,
And reach to take the pen,
A new bud blossoms, still to grow,
Spring begins another show,
My pen creates a vibrant glow,
I celebrate the ebb and flow,
Of all I’ve seen and been.

JHenry