The Fate of Flowers

The Fate of Flowers
By Kay Rice

A seed so small is given birth,
And nestled lovingly in the womb of the earth.
Waiting for the warmth to spring forth its life,
Anticipation of joy and unknowing of strife.

With Gaia’s sweet tears the rains fall down,
Giving life to the seed from the moist ground.
A tender, sweet thing peaks out, shy not bold,
And finds to its heart wonders so many untold.

Father sky looks down and gives her the sun,
Mother earth keeps her steady while wild winds run.
She grows and she blooms to magnificent sight,
With petals so tender, fragile and bright.

The garden beholds her and worships her song,
As spring turns to summer and days become long.
The spiders weave for her dainty veils of fine lace,
That covers her innocence and extenuate her face.

A flower so beautiful that all stop and stare,
At the beauty in the garden carefully growing there.
Through morning dews painting and cold midnight’s call,
Her radiance is only heightened by the oncoming fall.

One morning so brisk and under sun’s warm smiles,
A boy comes to the garden after walking for miles.
To gaze on the beauty he’d only heard stories of,
And was taken aback by her beauty and fell in love.

Unable to leave her in her home of garden’s warm soil,
He reached down and picked her from her mothers sweet coil.
He held her close to his face proclaiming his true love,
And took her away from the garden she only knew of.

Showing his prize to all that admired and passed by him,
The flower pined for the friends and the love left behind them.
He carefully placed her in a vase of the finest jewel,
And bragged of his capture of beauty’s hand and his rule.

But as days went by his youthful fancy did fade,
And the vase became empty no attention was paid.
And the beauty once displayed as his only pride,
Now became brittle and limp as she died.

A petal falls down as a tear in its place,
And no sorrow is shed from the boy’s handsome face.
As he picks up the dried and withered old stem,
And throws it away as it never mattered to him.

Thus is the fate of flowers and lasses alike,
When love turns to wild obsession and spikes.
The need and the lust to posses a beauty so rare,
Instead of letting her grow in her own garden there.

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