Rose Bud

November’s frost
Reaching down a clenched fist
Missed one bud
Blooming now
Out of season

This renegade
Interloper
Upstart
Dances gaily
As if summer
Had never fled
Winter would never come

Grey skies
Asphalt ocean
Blustering winds
Threaten and chastise
To no avail

We clip the rose gently
Stealing her in her prime
We place her bedside
Tall in her crystal palace now
Whispering
Watching