Winter’s Rose

(Town Square, somewhen in Kelfour’s Landing.)

The back-story for this seasonal song goes something like this:
A young man (I am omitting his name to shield him from permanent embarrassment) brought me a rose. Greywulf looked on, slightly amused. Out of desperation, trying to preserve the young man’s thoughtfulness and his dignity, I did the only thing I could think of. I thanked him for the lovely rose in the dead of winter. And then I told him I would try to find its song, for surely such a lovely rose had not come so far without quite a tale. Greywulf took my hand and whispered something to the effect that I might have talked my way out of that smoothly, but it was going to cost a song. That he could not wait to hear.


When Winter’s Rose to my hands came,
The red still deep as any crimson wine,
It sang to me, whispered soft my name,
And bade me listen, before its fleeting time.


In the spring, a rose will bloom,
The season’s first for marveling eyes,
The morning touches petals dew strewn
And awaits the poets and bards to arise.

Then in the summer, many roses open full and bright,
Coloring the senses with their aroma and hues,
They bask in the warmth of the full sunlight,
And lovers pluck handfulls, ardent mates to amuse.

At autum’s first touch of frost, roses wilt,
Only the hardier ones will much longer survive.
In a world of browns, the proud color is gilt,
Watching, waiting, for their turn to die.

But a Winter Rose, is love’s own endeavor,
Nurtured, protected, out of the ice and snow.
Rare and defiant, it remains a sign ever
That with care and attention, love will grow.


Then Winter’s Rose, in my hand still held
Ended the proud, proud tale.
I gazed at it, still under its spell,
Slowly slipping back here, the song unveiled.

Never again will I look at a rose
The same as I have before.
Now each season’s blooms will disclose
A tale and song of wisdom’s lore.

When Winter’s Rose to my hands came,
The red still deep as any crimson wine,
It sang to me, whispered soft my name,
And together we waited out its time.

Together we sang the song again,
Winter’s Rose and I.
Together we waited, and celebrated,

(all rights reserved, blah blah blah)

Author: GSBardess Past

She contributes from her retirement to share memories of GS3 and GS2 with us.

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