Pages from my Anthology

                    The Proud Flower

O! There she stood, all surrounded by full blooms,
Fresh and juvenile,
Ripe and beautiful,
Envied by all the glooms. 

The birds sang praises,
Bowed her to open her coloured petaly twines,
O’ little flower had only plans - to be famous and kind,
But being robbed off was the sole fear in mind.

Every day the bees would hum,
The cuckoo sang on spring’s arrival,
This little flower however had,
 Only reasons to stay still.

She thought of the passerby who
Would be charmed to see her,
Of the naughty lad who would try
To pull her attire,
Thought of the gumptious bee who
Would steal a bucket of nectar.
Hence better still was to be the bud she is.

Days passed , she felt pale and weak,
No more birds dancing around her,
No more flies to sing,
She was alone, for she served no purpose,
Only a bud she was, awaiting rebirth.

Thus she decided, to go off her fears,
Let the wind through her tiny feathers,
Let the bee hover around her,
For the world to see that what a
Divine beauty she could be.

And when all the happy times flowed,
The heavy storm’s entrance was big and clear,
All she was left with was-a tiny bright petal,
She knew her time had come to face it with grit,
To embrace, like all others,
The fate she was meant to end with.