A single scarlet rose bud amid hundreds of thorny frost killed stems.

How it survived the onslaught of winter's icy fingers, I cannot fathom

I rushed down the staircase not pausing to grab my shawl

and into the cold grey dusk I sped... faster and faster.

Afraid if I did not arrive there soon enough, the spectre would disappear.

I swung open the wooden gate, thorns tearing at my dress and ripping flesh from
my legs but this did not deter me.

I came to the center and lo it was not a vision, there it was,
the most perfect rosebud I have ever laid eyes on.

Gently, I reached out to touch it's silky petals... almost
expecting it to radiate warmth.

It beckoned me to take it

To cherish this phenomenon as only I could.

So I picked this rose in winter and rubbed the petals
across my cheek as a lover's smooth caress.

I carried it to my bedroom, protectively as if it were
a small child.

A special antique vase would only be good enough
for this rose of winter.

There it sat on my windowsill overlooking the graveyard
from which it had sprung.

I never saw the rose in winter unfold...I never saw it's
glorious petals unfurl to reach out and grasp life.

For it died a single bud this rose of winter.

It's beauty forever etched clearly in my mind and soul.