When a soul is gardened, a rose can't help but bloom... |
You're the gardener, and my soul, the flower; you happened upon me when I was but a seed, tossed aside, disregarded, left to fend for myself in untilled soil. You grasped me with feather fingertips, cupping me in your palms, cloaking me with your warmth; you gazed at me with eyes of love and understanding I'd never known. You held me, your grip unyielding as your fervored breath swept across me, dusting off the freshest mud blanketing my old wounds; I was renewed. Replanted, I settled into the newly tilled, nurturing soil of your life, still surrounded by darkness, but sustained by your light; I began to grow. I shifted, energized by the life-giving heat coursing from your heart as my thirst was quenched by the water raining from your soul; you offered new hope--I accepted. Together, unfailingly, we grew, my roots anchoring in the comfort of your soil; you tended to this once abandoned and neglected seed and soon I became a rose. I bloomed, my stem rising to heaven; a bud became a flourishing flower with crimson petals eager to bask in the sun while awaiting the rain the world is sure to send. Thanks, Roybe , for the gardener, and mssarcasm, for the sun and rain in the end. "Rose" photograph is Copyright © Microsoft Clip Art |