Rose

Rose

shrink 
and whither
It is our story
Remain furled
fade
into the shadows

do not show
What will not win
Do not fill 
the space where
You
might shine
The glory
of that time
has passed
The prize
is now too
valuable for you
When
out of season
torn and brown
rain worn, 
blown this way
and that
unashamed 
of thorns
you dare to be
                   Seen           

                     You do not dare

                            to see our shame

These petals still

Adorn what's left

weather stripped

but stronger still

than wind that mocks

Our glory

How do you know 

the measure of her worth?

She does not seek 

to be lit as a spark

She does not boast

This is no victory 

We have not overcome

Whatever force

or will produced

these thorns

before we knew

her youth

before you saw

the flaws that scream

Now to be heard
It is all we can do to 

Not dismiss

each layer that protects

what you continue

to neglect

(written December 15, 2016)