Rose of Jericho

She lies dead, like a Rose of Jericho curled
tightly upon herself to weather the storm
of blistering sand and swift dust-devils hurled
together by the blighting east-wind; Her form
is sadly withered by the drought and the pain
that she has endured through all her desert days.
Now the skies are full again, and the rain
pours back to earth, while streams restored to the ways
they knew long ago trickle across her roots,
reviving happy memories of a past
when she bore fronds full of sweet, not bitter fruits.
Now the clouds break again, and the sun at last
shines kindly upon her, while a gentler breeze
freshens the air. Behold! Her leaves are uncurled!
And though her life is not always one of ease,
she lives, like a Rose of Jericho unfurled.

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