Poem: A Rose

A seed sleeps quietly in the dark,
Cradled in earth, unseen, unmarked.
Time hums low in the soil’s embrace,
Until a stir, a tender trace.

A shoot breaks through with fragile will,
Reaching upward, green and still.
It drinks the sun, it tastes the rain,
And learns to grow through joy and strain.

Leaves unfurl like whispered dreams,
Soft as hope in silver beams.
Thorns emerge along the spine—
A quiet guard, a sharp design.

Then comes the bud, both tight and shy,
A secret held against the sky.
Day by day it starts to swell,
What it will be, it cannot tell.

At last, a bloom in velvet red,
Petals crowned, in beauty spread.
A fleeting queen of light and air,
With fragrance drifting everywhere.

But time, it moves with gentle hand,
No bloom too bright to firmly stand.
The petals loosen, one by one,
Their dance now fading in the sun.

They fall to earth, where all began,
A silent, soft, returning plan.
And in that end, a truth is sown—
Each rose that fades is not alone.

For deep below, the roots remain,
Awaiting spring to rise again.
A cycle spun from loss and grace—
The endless life of a rose’s place.

Thank-you for reading.

Brenda Marie