Lovely pink blossoming mommies,
Carrying their cute budding babies,
Teaching them about their life’s journey.
Marching ahead to adorn bouquets and decorations,
Soaking the appreciative peeps and caresses from the fellow carnations.
Walking with a hint of pride along the boulevard,
The budding beauty, oblivious of the blemish arising from its own yard…
The prick that ‘stemmed’from the thorn,
Changed the budding babies perception,
Oh, the budding baby cried ! It’s not roses all the way,
Mamma, I come with my limitations,…
Softness and delicateness packed in my appearance,
I am much required for people to exhibit their exuberance,
I make sure, I’m accepted with thorny interiors,
Pricks and hurts are part of my beautiful demeanor,
My entire life span of just two days,
Before I realize, ends swiftly in a haze,
Now, in my return journey before my end,
I notice, my soul is bruised and scarred,
As I walk through the rusted boulevard !!
A striking similarity between life of a rose and that of a man..We could all very well relate to the life journey of a rose with it’s limitations to our own lives, and before we realize it’s futility, it’s time to depart.
.. Any thoughts?