Frost On The Bloom

By Lydia Manx

A chill runs over the delicate petal
Pink no longer visible at all
Night drops her hold reluctantly
Moist air begins to cluster on the edge
A waning moon runs from a stray breeze
Winter far away yet visiting briefly
I walk out to get my paper
Barefoot since it's July
That date is just a lie as my feet are chilled
As I find the newspaper under my car
I reach underneath to push out a stray cat
She hisses and runs tail fluffed affronted by me
I quickly run back inside
Frozen by the unseasonable weather
As I hit my door I see a rose
There's frost on the bloom.

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