December courted Spring
but January turned a cold shoulder.
In my neighbor's garden,
whose house we are tending
while she's in Dublin,
a single pink rose
confused by the foreplay,
bloomed.
We snipped it
just before the mercury dropped,
and placed it in a blue vase on the window sill
backed by frosty panes.
Now amid the scarves, coats,
mittens, and caps,
we pause
and inhale
pink,
fragrant
summer.
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