The Flower

A seed was planted in the ground.
Soon a tiny proof of life appeared.
The stem pushed through the soil.
The bud of a flower bloomed.
Amazing, remarkable, marvelous.

Time worked its wonder.
The flower bloomed.
It blossomed and grew.
True beauty immerging from dirt.
Beautiful, innocent, vulnerable.

The flower was planted in danger.
No protection was around it.
It’s petals were plucked one by one.
It struggled to stay alive.
Sad, unfair, unjust.

Then the gardener came.
He carefully dug around the struggling flower.
He lifted it out of the path where it was planted.
He placed it in his protection.
Broken, gloomy, hopeless.

He coaxed the flower into the new soil.
It struggled, he watered it.
It drooped, he held it up.
It gave up, he fed it.
Hopeful, encouraging, promising.

The flower grew stronger.
It learned to stretch toward the sun.
It thirsted for the water.
It grew and grew, taller and taller.
Better, bigger, recovered.

The gardener admired his little bloom.
The bloom had blossomed.
No longer limited to one flower,
It was a rose bush covered with blooms.
Miraculous, phenomenal, astounding.

It was beauty from ashes.

Copyright 2005 by Michelle Rocker