The bottlebrush

Crimson beauties burst with song,
They greet me on my path.
Their joyous tune a contrast to
The sorrow in my heart.

I stop to gaze then reach for them,
Caressing ruby spines.
The softest stamens in my hand,
Such graceful little lines.

And then to catch me unawares,
They start to jig and bounce.
A daring breeze has whipped them up,
Oh, how they love to flounce!

Their radiance cannot be cooled,
They shine with inner light.
And even if I close my eyes,
They hear my soul’s plight.

Unique are they, unlike the rose,
Which dominates our tales.
Yet glorious their presence is,
A balm to hurts and ales.

So humming as I wander on,
I turn to soak them in.
A miracle on dreary day,
They warm me from within.