Any How

How can a rose that is not a thing

be blooming forever, like e-tern-al spring?

How can one flower in deep winter’s frost

continue to grow as if found, never lost?

How can her thorns bring only a smile,

when looking afar and into the while?

“How?” is a beggar of questions not asked,

reflected by beauty that someday unmasked

shall answer the when and the where of the place

the rose meets my hand and we see face to face . . .