The winter’s rose doth promise in the fading runes of yore, That true love once found will again be restored. Fear not, Sweet Jo, amoulderin’ on the moor. ’Twas found in a sheltered spot, Bright sterling gules and blemished not, Red as a drop o’ blood from the broken heart, Of the maid who waits and weeps atop the tor, Left behind by yon argent knight sworn to war, ’Til ajousting and aquesting he goes no more. A ROSE IN WINTER A crimson bloom in winter’s snow, Born out of time, like a maiden’s woe, Spawned in a season when the chill winds blow. WOODIWISS Dedicated to those readers who have written letters of encouragement.
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