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
