A rosebud that blooms begins to die,
But there’s still hope in the petals restrained.
There’s intensity—a swelling energy.
There’s friction, but it rubs deliciously.
The bud is aching to unfold—
It’s story to be told—
Exposed for all the world to behold.
It desires to be noticed—
Time demands the next stage of life;
Nature compels the floret to open.
But if it complies,
The spirit within amplified—
On the surface, fatigues in a moment.
There’s still hope in the petals restrained,
But a rosebud that blooms begins to die.
Photo made available by Vanessa Serpas via Unsplash