The Gift

Presented in a mundane outer wrapping,
Twiggy, thorny, dull and lacking grace –
God’s garden gift awaits the full unwrapping
When beauty buried deep will show its face.

Sun’s early rays creep o’er the wintry landscape
Warming the twigs after some gentle showers,
While in those sticks a miracle takes shape – 
A joyous miracle, a flush of flowers.

A rose! Who knew such beauty could be hidden
In every plain, utilitarian case.
Each Spring the thrill assails one’s heart, unbidden,
Watching the leaves unfurl and take their place.

I know not whence they come, these fragrant treasures
Nor how their heady perfume comes about.
I only know, of all of Nature’s pleasures
My favourite is the rose, without a doubt.

 ©wrencottage  13.2.2025