Red berry

In the depth of winter's bitter cold
hangs the shriveled red of autumn's seed.
Wandering round the garden's edge, this weed
can not be kept apart; it grows too bold
and knows a raging hunger. An old
heart that answers yet a stronger need
than any gardener's careful plans, indeed
it is a treasure more than gold.
What gem is hidden in this envelope?
Nothing less than the immortal face.
It is a twist of nature's deepest, strongest rope
leading us along the trail of grace;
the hook on which we hang all hope.
The ovum - spark of all life's knitted lace.

Andromeda Jazmon