The rose that bloomed A speck of pink in a bed of green- The solitary bud blooming , Among bushes and twigs, thorns and weeds; That one blossom clinging on to its petals, Standing tall against the pouring rain and the lashing wind. Occasionally would sit a lonely thrush on its branch Singing a melody to the darkness of the night, Or a queen bee will adorn its crown For some nectar sweet and divine. But, it is till it lasts- Till the petals stand the test of time, Maybe a weary poet composes a rhyme, Or a lone musician strikes a chime, Or a forlorn lover reminiscence his time. And then one day, the petals lay On the ground astray. The thrush no longer sings, the music no longer rings- And its essence trampled and trodden Like a tune forgotten. But somewhere it thrives , In the words of a diary jaded Or the folds of a photograph faded. -Devyashree 09.06.2025
Very nice ma'am.
ReplyDeleteYou are awesome.