The First Rose of Winter
Ziaul Moid Khan

There blooms in my yard
The first rose of winter:
Beautiful and shy to a bard;
The twig is happy where
It blossoms.
The nature is happy where
It blooms;
The neighbor twig bears a bud
Waiting to bloom like her sister;
Too little to be called a rose bud;
Oh this morn I saw it there
And invited my sister fair;
She viewed it with good mention,
They welcome this new flower.
God sends a signal there
That pink winter has arrived,
So much windy, so much wide;
Just See it there, see it there...!