The Struggle


Ice covers all the water.
The ground itself rests in slumber,

But from the cold and the gloom
One single rose does bloom.

As fresh as spring it does exist,
Heavenly as if by the lips of dew kissed.

It stem so green, its petals pink,
The magnificent beauty makes me think

Of new Spring mornings and melting snow,
And yet this simplicity forces me to know

That in this bitterness we all must live;
A hate we must take and a fight we must give.

For if we surrender before we do,
Death is what we look forward to.