• Rose



    Mother sings for us.
    She sings of our growth.
    Mother sings of fruitful life;
    And in those soft-spoken words,
    I hear a hidden verse.
    Though my cousin bushes too are near,
    They have reached their peak growth and hear it not.
    Their leaves are coated green.
    As for that verse Mother sings with the wind,
    It tells me of my future.

    “My darling Rose,” her words whisper.
    “You soon will loose our plumage.”
    Fear shakes my roots as I listen on.
    “Oh darling Rose,” Mother calls again.
    “Next spring your beauty will double.”

    I wait for more, only to find
    Mother sings a new song of love;
    A ballad for all of Nature.
    A new fear not lingers in me,
    One of anticipation.
    My petals have spread but soon will wither,
    But next spring I will bloom again.