Insubstantial

Insubstantial I opened, one early morning the window in the door, and was met with a face that looked like a cloud; it blew frost roses on the glass, they were so beautiful, abstract, and oh, so fragile. Years ago by the cloister`s wall, I saw some miniature looking roses, I replanted them in my garden, they disappeared I thought they had died out, but this spring they were by my wall nodding shyly in the breeze. As the spring turned into summer, they had no shade and disappeared like frost roses on the window glass; and that is ok by me, cause I know they are there just under the earth waiting for another spring.