A single solitary beauty
glorious and unmatched
encircled in thorns
unlike anything seen before
enveloped in majestic perfection
opening His heart
and giving His life
for all of us
not just some
for us all
November may be over…
but look at the glorious wild
Purple Majesty Millet cat tails,
Red currants to feed the birds,
Pink primroses still budding,
Purple Calli Carpa beauty bush seeds.
Even the dried seeds of Indian Pink,
cascade in a gentle arc of beauty,
dried and curly Pampas grass,
a sprig or two of Red Barberry,
like Christmas lights around the tails.
All snuggled in a bed of Blue Fir,
Conifers, Maple and Rhodie leaves,
and of course a few wild Washington Apples,
… winter beauty in the Great NorthWest.
Thorns tear at my heart, scratching and ripping
as he walks down that lonely road
pulling the threads farther apart
he needs a knot to hang on to
just a snag in that wore out groove.
Scratching at the welt left behind
swollen and angry stupor
filling every shiver with ache
tangling across the silent trail
tripping him up, holding him down,
torn away too soon,
confused by the rambling brambles.
Too old to ask for help,
too young to admit defeat
spurred on by a point
a burr sticking to the wrong side
the way not a fork or turn.
Briars slashing his dreams,
cutting down his will to tread
drained by bloody barbs,
thistles or roses,
their scent wafts through the closed doors.