The Seed On The Wind

by richardhutton


O rose thou art without thy thorns;
The wind of Autumn – gentle, warm –
At last has brought its chill to bear,
Hath done what soft hands would not dare.

Has touched thy limbs now one by one –
Petals fallen, flowers gone –
Until your leaves are left as none:
All on the earth, and frost thereon/upon.

The wind that bore your seed so true;
Hath brought to earth your flower too.
From earth to earth, and wind to wind;
From without unto within.

And winter drawing nigh is long;
Its chill enough to prick the thorn.
Silent ice has settled on,
Tendrils this year newly born.

The world has lost its colour fair,
And yet the wind has kept its moan;
Deflowered branches – withered, bare –
When brightened will regain their tone.

The gathered snow will melt with spring;
The world will see a brighter morn.
The earth that bides your seed within,
Will warm, and life again begin.