The brightest rose in the ground
The most majestic of flowers
Stood taller than the tallest man
With a mighty stance.
It’s leaves stretched from sea to sea
With green of speckled frog.
It’s petals stretched like clouds
With red of spilt blood.
No animal dared tired on it
Nor wandering man plucked it.
It stood for years a mighty thing
A wonder to the world.
Then one day a mighty winter
Blew against the rose
It froze the rose’s mighty stem
It crumpled the rose’s blood red petals.
It uttered names of hell and slowly the flower lowered his face
his beauty wilted.
And as the winter raged on
the mighty flower withered.
It lost its beauty as the winter danced as days grew ever shorter.
At night the rose shivered
And with each night a petal fell
until he was without petals.
Then the sun shone again
Yet the rose did not lift his face.
He remained sad far into summer and again into the cold as years and years flew by.
When spring came once more beneath a dying sun
The withered rose looked up
And saw before his wilted eyes
A rose of new origin.
The rose stood tall as the tallest woman
With leaves of the purest green
And petals born of the sun.
The withered rose looked upon the other
And slowly he stood tall
Taller than the tallest man.
His leaves again stretched from sea to sea with green of speckled frog.
Again his petals gleamed with red of spilt blood.
Again he was the brightest rose in the ground
But he was not alone.
And as the sun slowly died
The roses looked upon one another
And the withering rose of winter
Blossomed into the bud of spring
And the broken heart of man
Became whole again.