A Poem for Thanksgiving

                                   By John Robert Howell



Vain seasons ebb and flow.  The summer's heat

Now yields to coming dark and cold, a feat

Of nascent winter.  Dazzling roses fade

In dour display of floral pasquinade.



The wind dry petals fling into the air

Remind the hungry heart of earth's despair.

O loose eternally the mortal curse

And find hid sacred pearls to bless your purse.



Why not this day depart from fear and fade-

Less blessings gain, your tainted fleshly shade

Put off?  What blooms in holy solitude?

The Rose of Sharon, God's beatitude.