It can happen this way:
one day gray and dreary,
the rose pocked with droplets,

the next, brightening under fresh
sun, with winged visitors alighting
for a sniff or a snuggle.

All of this on the edge of winter,
fall working its way into foliage,
as it does. But bee. But bug.

But rose. Look at her blooming
brilliance, clearly, thankfully,
not done yet.