Frost nips a green shrub
Wind tousling its stalks
Gone are summer’s warm rays
The dark of winter forebodes
–
Yet on this morning
In the face of rain, wind, and the march of seasons
It stands resolute
Upright in its frosty countenance
–
And should a stray ray fall upon its white tipped leaves
It will be soaked in
But taken with stern reticence
With dignity and pride
–
As if to say “ I am no beggar
This calamity of cold I will endure
I accept your gift
But I expect no more”
