Here's a poem written with the suggested title of "Song of the Rose."
Song of the Rose
Leaves drop, limbs slouch,
Silent sitting in dark earth ice.
I could be made to move,
but am working on something deeper.
Soft northern lights pass behind my eyelids.
Cottonwoods quake and chatter,
bees listen in dreams,
twilight flashes like trout and gone.
Allow me this work,
and in time I will open my throat.
Bursts of spirit that will take your breath away.