Who are you to brave the bitter cold

With your ethereal beauty?

Virginal white and celadon green,

A delicate perfume catches

At my memory.

A slender beauty swaying in the

Howling gales of winter’s final gasps,

The first kiss of spring’s sunlight fingers

Caress your translucent blossoms

Rising from the snow.

You huddle close against the cold rock,

Yet remain defiant in the face

Of winter’s icy grasp plucking your

Snowy petals. Your head is bowed,

Yet your spirit proud.


I too must face the cold hand of fate

Decisions that I would rather bow

Away from and hide behind my rock.

Would I bear them like you the snow

With your serene grace?

Grace Lockwood 2002

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