The Rose

A seed fell out from the tomb The flowers died, the seed should die too But rising sun outlasts the night As raindrops spill, as the seed learns to fight A playful leaf, silhouette in the sky The rose now born decides that it likes But how to reach when trapped in this form? And now the rose is lost in a storm The sunlight draws the rose from its bed The rose just stares, too lost in what’s said More rain will come, more dark will rise More light will come, then more rain to despise Nothing now but whispers and time The gentle wind, the lonely inside The rose just waits to feel it belongs As gentle winds begin with their songs Complacent air, atonement for us The rose has grown, the leaves it can touch Now patient hope has finally come And past the dead the rose feels the sun