Lord, let me be a rose that blooms in winter;
unexpected in the growing dusk……
late to bloom or just waiting for
the moment appointed for such display.
Others spend their fragrance in the dance of spring
parading full bloom in the heat of summer….
spending themselves in lavish bouquets.
The cold storm’s breath can force a hardened bud
to promise an unfolding—yet never awaken
to its’ full promise.
Only the breath of my Master can draw me out.
Breathe on me breath of God…
for such a day….
such an hour…
I have been formed in your hand.
I bow to your will.