Alpine winds may buffet her soft petals
and dash her fragile stems against coarse stones.
But hers is a strength that defies fate's dull
attempts to cast her from her craggy throne.

She crouches low to thwart the bitter cold
embracing the granite from which she springs
as slender arms, in the cool air, unfold
gathering the sun's warmth with spiraling wings.

The blanching sun's rays or ensuing frost;
the sleet, the hail, or the man's ignorant toe
may well this delicate flower accost
leaving her mangled in terminal woe.

But mourn not her death with absolute tears,
for she will return this, and every year.