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”

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