A gentle man took care of his garden.
In the midst of roses not yet full-grown,
a rare and delicate thing emerged.
The man fertilized and watered the flower,
and told others how proud he was of it.
The sun beat down,
and made the other flowers grow to be beautiful.
That one rose was no longer
given the man's attention
and it shriveled up,
untended to and unloved.
I am that rose.

Tweet

Comments on this poem/writing:

Click here to read other Poems by Christina

Copyright©2017-1999 by Rebecca R. Hammack

COPYRIGHT NOTICE: All Rights Reserved.   No part of this website, including all pictures and written words,  may be reproduced or copied in any manner from this website without  permission of the original author of the work.  All poetry and pictures herein remain the sole property of the original author and/or copyright owner.  All poetry on this website has been submitted by the original author of the work. To contact any author of the work please e-mail: dreamer@dreamersreality.com  so the proper person may be notified.