Plastic Rose<br /> <br /> I walked along the snowy lane,<br /> between the fence on either side;<br /> out to the barren harbour point,<br /> now ringed with ice up to high tide<br /> And looking cross the heaving ocean<br /> an ancient saltbox staring west<br /> grey and weathered, solitary<br /> like some seabird on cliff-top nest<br /> <br /> It stood upon this rocky outcrop,<br /> encrusted with the frozen spray;<br /> That was created by the west wind<br /> that had been raging down the bay<br /> The bay and sky and house were weathered<br /> the same color, a dirty grey<br /> Not much splash of color offered<br /> on this drab, February day<br /> <br /> And then I noticed in one window<br /> behind the tatters of old lace<br /> A little splash of red that showed<br /> itself within just one glass space<br /> A plastic rose, in parlor window<br /> that in this time seemed out of place<br /> Yet it spoke of some warmer moments<br /> that had now vanished without trace<br /> <br /> Wayne Taylor (Bonavista)<br />   Submitted By: wayne taylor