There’s an icy rose
That blooms and grows
In the embers of a fire,
That’s burned for weeks
On the eastern peaks
That volcanos most admire,
For there the sun
Believes it’s won
The scorching crown of flame,
Till volcano throws
Off its clothes
And makes its molten claim.
This rose grabs hold
Of holy cold
As fire only dreams,
As like a team
One extreme
Quickly becomes extremes.
Pluck and place
With perfect grace
That comes from fearlessness,
A rose of ice
Grown to entice
The world’s most marvelous,
You’ll be pleased
To sweetly freeze
Until the simple turn,
When ice gives way
To plotted play
And circles back to burn.

Illustration by Dall-E in the style of Claude Monet.