The roses were in bloom, vivid colours a riot in Spring
Yet one small bud remained curled tight and closed to everything
Whilst the full-bodied fragrant roses soaked up sun and admiration
This small bud was lost inside a mounting haze of frustration
Try as she might the path to growth was hidden from her sight
Her efforts to unfurl for nought, though she tried with all her might
As Spring turned into Summer and her brethren reached their peak
A shard of despair nestled into her heart leaking the colour of bleak
As Summer began to wane and there came a hint of chill on the breeze
The roses began to wither, their petals fluttering along with the leaves
The bud gave up hope and let go of her quest to feel the kiss of the sky
Accepted her fate as later than late, released her sorrow in a long gentle sigh
Just as the first snow was falling and she was still wrapped in a blanket of peace
She felt a beacon of warmth at her centre and a lightness that bade her release
She heeded the call without question and followed her heart as it slowly uncurled
One hundred petals shone bright like rubies against the blanket of white on the world 
As she drank in the rays of the winter sun, she marvelled at all she could see
Blooming late on this crisp winter morning, where she was always meant to be.

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We actually had a rose that bloomed late in our garden last year, it was yellow not red and it was beautifully incongruous against the backdrop of a dull winter morning. It made me smile in wonder every time I saw it, a beautiful example that life finds a way.

I hope you enjoyed this week’s Sunday rhyme time. I’ve finally figured out how to sort my writing into sub-categories (yay!), so why not head over to my new menu and see if any of them take you fancy?

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