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A heavy frost
Covered the lawn
With a crystalline blanket
This November morn.
Against the fence
In my back yard,
A single pink rose
Remained upon its bush,
Glistening and sparkling
In the early sunlight.
Holding onto its fragile petals
Refusing to fragment and fall
To join its peers
Dead upon the ground
Now so wet and cold.
A solitary soldier
Stubbornly holding its post,
Resisting the onslaught
Of cold weather,
Remaining the last
Bastion of summer,
Heroically fighting
The unwinnable battle,
Not yet ready to
Submit to winter's sleep;
Determined to prolong
The beauty and pleasure
Of summer's vestige
A few more days
A few more hours...
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