Joyce Wright (1954-2004)
The Winter Rose (1989)
There is the legend of the winter rose,
A flower that grows from the driven snow.
A blossom of winter with a fragrance so sweet,
That who ever should behold it would never sleep.
Deep from my slumber on a winter's night
I awoke with the vision of this flower's delight.
Its bright glistening red petals each covered in ice
Danced full of moonbeams and was worth any price.
I was shaken, I stirred, I took hold of my heart.
I put on my clothes and went into the dark.
On through the drifts and the icy plains
I searched for this flower, seemingly in vain.
Across the still valleys to the mountains most high
I was determined to search to the day I did die.
Though weary and tired, still continuing to believe
The search would continue as long as I did breathe.
My limbs were frozen and frostbitten with pain,
Not knowing of hope or what I might gain.
My movements were slowing, my life slipping away
I knelt down to god and to god I did pray.
That as the creator of both heaven and earth
Who knew of my life, before my own birth.
Why was I then woken from my deep sleep
To cry out in pain with the gnashing of teeth
With a burden so great my heart could not bear
The time till my death, and the flower not there?
And as I knelt there all crusted in ice,
God told me then that there wasn't a price.
That no man on earth, nor any beast
Could seek on his own and ever find peace.
And who so ever chose to follow his own way
Would reap not reward on the great day.
And verily the fine flower for which you do seek
Is not in any valley, nor on any peak.
For your Red Rose is here in my hand,
Seek after me and follow my plan.
Then there was quiet and all became still
And the needs of my heart I could not fill.
The word I had heard, the words He had spoken,
Had mended my heart, a heart that was broken.
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