Here is one of my poems from which I brushed the dust.
In the newborn state of spring,
I spied a rose behind a willow,
A red rose unforeseen. In the shadows of the willow,
Back behind that ancient tree,
The rose looked dark and dreary,
But still it called to me. I had no need for such a rose,
I reasoned quickly to the rest,
For in the basket at my side
With ten such roses I'd been blest. I would have stayed and ventured closer
Just to see its reddish fires,
Had there not been obstacles --
The crooked thorns and briers. So home again I hastened
For the noon was closing soon,
And my roses needed water --
In a vase t'would nicely do. But as I neared my neighbor called --
"Oh please now, do not flee!
You look as if you could use
Some crumpets and some tea!" So I entered her quaint cottage,
And there among the knicks and knacks,
Stood the rose from 'neath the willow,
Could it be? Yes there it sat. It looked so bright and happy there
Clad in its dark, deep-red array,
While all of mine had faded
And died along the way. So when I journey forth again
Along life's uncertain shore,
I'll search behind each willow tree
For one lone, red rose more.
-- Vicki Lynn Minor, 1986