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