The Last Bud

The sun came smiling upon a beautiful garden
Where lived all sorts of flora, like the rosebuds of ten
Of different colors, each concealing a surprise –
Their own kinds of beauty to be revealed at sunrise.
Came midnight, and then twilight, and then the break of dawn
Thrilled to gently stretch petals for the first eyes who’d fawn
Finally, by the touch of sun’s rays each rosebud bloomed
Showed nature’s bestowed beauty except for one thought doomed.
Three yellow roses bragged of their optimistic charm,
Three white roses boast purity and meaning no harm;
Three red roses crowed erotic beauty they were born;
While the poor silent bud was treated with tacit scorn.
The butterflies loved to touch the newly-bloomed rosies
And how the bud has envied the proud pretty posies
Blamed nature in her head for making her unsightly
I want to bloom quicker, she thought, to live life rightly.
Seeing what happened, the wise old sun just shook its head:
There’s something more in you, just sleep on your petal bed.
She took time to relax, took the dewy nourishment
And the strength to her frail petals the fiery sun sent.
The next day finally came after long hours of sleep,
She unfolded her petals and their hearts took a leap.
Even insects cried, She’s the loveliest flower!
That the butterflies and bees came to swarm around her.
Now envy’s gone, but pride had no place in her heart
Thanks to adversity, she’s the finest work of art.
The proud roses were not as pretty as yesterday
For as the last bud blooms, bit by bit they wilt away.
Still a trace of innocence seen at her shades of pink
You’re the prettiest, darling, said the sun with a wink.
Her given-off fragrance divinely touched every nose,
The most noticed of all was the pretty humble rose.
Her beauty delighted creatures after she awoke
And with feminine elegance she finally spoke:
At first I thought I’d forlornly wither on the mud,
But I see there’s much glory on being the last bud.

-A. C.


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