Rosebud

image: fineartamerica.com

A flower was offered to me,
a pretty bud, tightly curled,
brand new, without blemish,
innocent and full of promise.
I was given few instructions,
had to learn through trial and error
how to care for it,
how much water, not too much,
how much sunshine, not too much.
I had to learn to loosen the soil
around its roots, so it did not strangle,
give it room to breathe.
I had to learn how to wrap it
warmly against the cold of winter,
how to encourage it when it faltered,
and began to lose hope.

Somehow, through storm and struggle,
it survived, for it wanted very much to live.

A flower was offered to me.
It took longer than most to bloom.
But, once blooming, it wanted to never stop.
My dear bloom aged and, in its aging,
was the sweeter, honeyed, rich and full,
brimming with memories, laughter and tears
at the long journey it had made,
and my gratitude grew and grew
for the incredible gift of the bloom
that was my one, precious life.


for Sumana's prompt for Midweek Motif at Poets United: "A flower was offered to me", after the poem by William Blake. Do check out the other links. Great prompt, Sumana!