In winter when the flowers die,
Amid the weather drear,
Behind the glass in heated room,
The buds of spring bloom bright and clear.
Their fragrant scent and color hide,
Behind stained glass of springtime bloom,
A gentle blush for me alone,
A springtime bride for her loving groom.
Roses’ thorns aren’t needed here,
Kept safe behind the fortress walls,
Adoring petals mock harsh life,
Beyond the fastness of the halls.
by Larry Lambert
