by Rose Ann Jenneman I am but a yellow rose bush, amidst a field of hay. Hidden within the color of dandelions and rockets. My roots are dry and the soil around them hard. Moisture taken by others, God had meant for me. The seasons have changed, snow is my blanket. But I am so cold, brittle arms reaching the sky. I welcome spring, the warmth of the sun. Leaves and blossoms start to bud and open. But I will not be seen for the beauty I hold. Bright red in color, strong arms yet, soft petals. Sharing the morning dew, softening the earth. Rising above all others, our beauty radiant. Thorns that are meant to keep harm at bay. Keep us together entwined without pain. Dear God, plant a red rose bush by me. |
