Outside my window a winter rose,
white as snow,
comes and goes in the breeze.
Beyond, is the tracery of trees
that do not yet dream of leaves.
Strange it is to see
winter and summer meet
in barest twig and budding rose,
in this grey suburban street.
I like this poem. Tough as old boots are roses, though the flowers look so delicate. In our sheltered back garden we have a myrtle with a few flowers on - in January? ! I fear it will get colder though, before it gets warmer.
a petaled hope of summer's bloom exquisitely painted!
Very nice poem. I can really feel about the air. I feel that when it is winter and the trees are void of leaves, they should be really dreaming of the leaves. Anyway, I leave it to you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice poem. Thanks for sharing.