You clutched the ceramic pot tight,

Watching it, waiting, expecting.

I peered in, yet I saw only damp, dark soil,

And I looked at you, questioning.

You told me you planted a flower,

And you were waiting for it to bloom.

I said true beauty takes time to grow,

And you nodded, and you waited.

You clutched the ceramic pot tight,

And you said to me, with fear taking root,

That you’ve waited, and saw nothing.

I watched you worry for the seed,

Your careful watering and tending,

All the sunlight the flower drank.

I told you beauty must be carefully crafted 

And you nodded, and you waited.

You clutched the ceramic pot tight,

But it were your tears that darkened the soil,

You stared, lost, at the weak, half-bloomed flower,

Frail leaves, dull color, and bowed-down stem.

You told me it was all for nothing,

The careful watering and tending,

All the sunlight that couldn’t brighten it’s petals.

I smiled, and gently righted its bent body.

The most beautiful flowers

Are the first to be plucked away, I say.