There atop the

thorny bush

there is a rose.

One rose in late

summer. One rose

against the odds,

against the sky,

against the elements,

against gravity itself,

a thing of beauty,

a point of vivid

life against the

backdrop of normalcy,

the green, the

standard vegetation

and so am I.

Let it be for

me as it is

for that rose

and so it is.

I have no complaint

against the communion

of my soul with

this emblem of

ascendancy. Let

me be as I

am, as it is, as

it was meant to

show me. Grow

above the rest,

everything else and

bloom before the

curtain, against

the way things

are and this

for certain.

Victory is mine.

Triumph is a

rose that has

been given.