Posted by: quoththesparrow | April 14, 2016

Meant To Be

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There once was a beautiful rose

Magnificent in color

Its leaves shiny and petals full of life

A sweet, sweet fragrance so alluring

Many people stopped to admire it

And breathe in its beauty

Then continued on their way

Yet, in all the admiration

No one thought to stay

And nurture the rose

After a while people stopped paying it visits

The weather turned

Rain fell

At first it quenched the rose’s thirst

But the more the rain fell, the harder it came

Soon it turned to hail

And stripped leaves and petals from the rose

On it bore down

Then suddenly, it stopped

A spot of sun broke through the clouds

A breeze trickled in, kissing the rose gently

Then the breeze blew harder

In a flash the breeze turned into a mighty gale

The rose was whipped to and fro

Only its roots held it down

The wind hurled on, unrelenting

The rose’s leaves and petals,

If not blown away,

Were ripped to rags

On the wind howled

Until the rose was almost spent

Then suddenly, the wind stopped

And the sun came out

The rays caressed what was left of the rose

The sun stayed and beamed on

Yet, the longer the sun stayed, the hotter it grew

Under the heat, the rose wilted

Until it was but a shriveled remnant

At last the rose collapsed

Shortly, it would become one with the soil

No one to know that a beautiful rose

Once stood tall and proud in that place

Winter came

The ground covered in snow and ice,

Where our rose once was, now a frozen waste

Spring came, melting the ice and snow

Watering the ground

The sun returned and warmed the land

One day a tiny green shoot poked through the soil

A little boy playing the mighty hero

Slicing through the air with a stick for a sword

Stopped at the sight of the little green shoot

He knelt and peered at it in wonder

Then he turned back and called,

“Daddy, what’s this?”

His father came and knelt beside him

“It’s the beginning of a new life.

It could be anything.”

“Daddy, I’ll pull it up and give it to Mama!”

“Oh, no, son. But wait.

I’ll show you what to do with it.”

His father left, then returned shortly

With a spade and pot

First he scooped in dirt, then gently dug up

The little green shoot with his spade

And placed it carefully in the pot

“We’ll take it home and plant it in the garden.

Care for it, son. Nurture it.

In time, we’ll see what it’s meant to be.”

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