Two Years: A Journey with 210

Throw me a glance on a silvery morn,
Of dewdrops and blossoms, and nothing too forlorn,
As birds twitter,
And girls chatter,

          And the rose from the bush is born.

Wish me a smile as the daylight beams bright,
As pencils and papers, and shadows of the night
Loom overhead,
Where we must tread,

          And the rose learns to weave delight.

Wail me a frown as the sun burns the land,
A grimace, a glower, a quiet reprimand--
Sinking to sleep,
Sleeping to weep,

          While the rose flutters--a rebrand.

Hum me a sigh as the purrs patter by,
So wishful, so joyful, a rowdy lullaby
For dirges past,
For marches fast,

          For the rose bidding trees goodbye.

Wisps and tendrils of Father Time's fingers,
As the rose murmurs in tones of wonder,
Snatch at the wind and tenderly linger,
As the rose unfurls its budding splendour.

Snaps and pounces of the afternoon breeze
On the rose arching still in blankets red,
Shriek at the pride and whisper an unease,
But the rose arches still--a tall, proud head.

Cry me a song as the west drowns in hue--
A golden, a scarlet, a vanishing blue,
A fading grey;
A dawning day...

          The rose sheds its petals for you.