Blooming Verses
I am the poet of the garden, hear my song
My petals are pages where verses belong
Rooted in the earth, yet reaching for the sky
I write my story as days and seasons fly
My first draft sprouts, a tender green shoot
Pushing through the soil, finding my root
Each leaf unfurls, a stanza takes the form
Braving the elements, defying the norm
Sun is my muse, rain my ink
I compose in colours you can't even think
Bees are my critics, buzzing review
Carrying my words to gardens anew
I bloom in metaphors of vibrant hue
Similes as sweet as morning dew
My fragrance, a rhythm that floats on the breeze
Alliteration in the whisper of leaves
Short maybe my time under the sun
But in this brief life, volumes are spun
Each day a revision, each night an edit
Till my final draft stands, and I'm proud of it
I face my mortality with every line
Knowing my words will wilt in time
But fear not for me, for in my seeds
Lie sequels and stories for future reads
So pause by my stem, inhale my prose
For I'm more than just a pretty rose
I'm a writer whose work is never done
Till the last petal falls, and my tale is spun
In the cycle of nature, I'll write once more
Rising again from the garden floor
For a flower's life is but a book
Endlessly rewritten, if you know where to look
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