The Christmas Rose

Midwinter and the dead earth

Suddenly parts to give birth

To thick clusters of stiff flowers

Whiter than scattered pear tree showers,

Marble monuments or morning milk,

Smoother than pebbles or old silk,

I touch each blossom, where they lie

With polished leaves and golden eye,

The hellebores of the January snows,

The plant I call the Christmas Rose.

                                             Leonard Clark

Sign of optimism and hope in the depressing days of January