My attention is caught
by a beautiful white rose
still in bloom
in December.
It leans towards the path
and catches my eye as I pass;
it’s saying ‘Look at me
and admire me,
because soon I will die.’
I look, and look again:
this seems out of place?
How come a rose is here,
a perfect flower’s face,
creamy white petals
shading to buttercup yellow?
I lean close to study and sniff –
the delicate petals are curled,
there’s a faint rose scent
on the very last flower –
defiantly facing the world.
It must be strong to endure so long–
this Summer Rose in Advent;
a fragile white blossom, out of season,
has survived for a simple reason.
C. Tim Taylor 2013