Written for: The Sunday Muse #31
Dressed in tidy white
she treads on land
where nothing grows.
People have lost
all hope that earth
will forgive. She comes
upon a single perfect rose,
freshly planted, she supposes,
but by whom. How did this
creation occur? She bends
down to place her finger
on red velvet petal, then
hesitates, ruminates on
the right thing to do.
Perhaps enjoy the beauty,
and not take a chance
on ruining this
scarlet miracle.
Loved this, the makings of a new fairy tale.
LikeLike
Thanks, Vicki!
LikeLike
Love the beautiful message in this Sara!
LikeLike
Thanks, Carrie!
LikeLike