I walked across the brittle lawn that cold and dreary day;
Ash Wednesday, four days earlier, had turned a page.
Lent was here to turn my thoughts to Christ,
and all He had to pay;
My expectation stirred in the morning haze.

The Lenten Rose, well-hidden beneath leaves of sodden brown,
To arthritic hands, seemed to speak of frigid death.
I pulled aside dank, rotted leaves
and flung them to the ground,
And found His flowers, announcing Spring's first breath.

I love this shy reminder of the victory to come,
When sin and death relinquish their reign on earth,
As in my Savior's resurrection,
when the grave was overcome
And all who embraced the Truth received new birth.

Oh, Lenten Rose, how I love thee in all thy purity, Waiting in the grave to rise in Life anew;
Forgotten . . . passed in willful blindness . . . 
unnoticed by the throngs,
Until God reveals Resurrection . . . in You!