How wise br the rose? br br near the shortest day, br the seasons all confused this year br even the great globe itself br confused by man br br and on this gusty day br a rose throws br itself upon the world br simultaneously hero, heroine, victim br seen calling through the window; br if it were a child alone out there br you would rush out to save it br br does the rose know br how beautiful it is? br br or is it wiser than we are, br knows more of love? br of law? br looks tenderly upon br man’s need for beauty, br frail reassurance br of the beauty of our own soul br br any moment now br the wind will tear its weakening petals br br yet I saw it while it lasted, as if br the only rose in the world br br and before it returned br to wherever the souls of roses br sigh, laugh, smile, br return to eternal Rose br br it wrote this poem in – to it – br an unfamiliar language br that tried to translate br its beauty into me br br wiser, in some way, br than Ibr br Michael Shepherdbr br