Winter Chills Poem by Mark Heathcote

Everything in the garden is rosy,
until, the frost—leans against its sharp scythe.
The rose that spent all summer long blowsy
now it is cold curled up tightly, heart writhed-
relinquishing the fight; with head nodding.
It accepts the love affair - concluded.
It's now a brisk wind & rain cannonading-
against our will, has also intruded.
Like them rattling window panes we close up.
We freeze over - sinking back to our roots.
What can adjudge this poison chalice cup
to be charged in you, and me, that dilutes-
the warm sunshine in a bare, lifeless tree
unadorned I, ask you, to still love me.