Our Flower

It started as a seed,
So fragile, small, and meek;
It had to be nurtured and nursed
So that it wouldn't wilt or be weak.

As time passed on,
It started to sprout out.
It was only a small twig,
But it stood strong and stout.

It grew very rapidly;
And its roots grew deep and strong.
At times, it had to struggle,
But a flower blossomed before very long.

This flower was a rose,
Its beauty so immense.
It was shaped so perfectly,
And its sweet smell so intense.

This rose is our love;
They are alike in almost every way.
There is one difference, though.
Our flower will never go away.

Lisa Rodenberry
January 1992