This 27 Year Old Rose

I wrote this poem in 1983 when I was 17(and rather intense). My goal was to enter it into a poetry contest, but only if it was good enough.  So I nervously showed my sister to get her feedback. Dawn perused it and scoffed, “You didn’t write this!” I gulped, thinking Okay, what do I do with this?  What I did was hide it away, never to show anyone…until now. Gulp. I did mention I was intense. Right?

Around the same time, I painted the above picture. 

Have a rosy day!  

This Rose

From a tiny seed blooms a single rose.

Distinctiveness, sweet smell, and beauty it holds.

This rose thrives, while sharing its hue, taking heat from the sun and the cool droplets of dew.

Amid the chirping of the birds, plants swaying in the breeze,

I can almost hear this rose say, “Today, I am happy.”

The brown soil hardens and leaves start to wilt. Days of summer have faded by.

I watch this rose grow older, tears forming in my eyes.

A special crimson it once had, a deep red color – such vividness.

Before the changing of the seasons, this rose’s change in appearance.

This rose has been undergoing internal changes too.

Environmental differences create new points of view.

I’m aware of all these things, for this rose I’ve watched grow.

Of its sentiments, its transformations, no one but I will ever know.

Uninvited winter storms approach as tears surge from my eyes.

Though losing much vitality, through the harsh weather it survives.

If it could express itself, this rose would say, “This isn’t fair! Look what’s happening to me!”

Suddenly, two leaves descend from its stem, carried off by an active breeze.

The account for such anguish this rose is feeling is evident:

Those youthful days of summer WON’T EVER BE AGAIN.

While petals vary to shades of gray, happiness, beauty, strength all continue to decay.

I watch now as this rose shrivels up to die complacently

Leaving behind one vivid red petal,

A part of you and me.