As my short,
Singular life progressed,
I thought not of those ‘round me
I thought only of getting to the top.
Growing tall into the sky above the Others.
My face stretched to the sun, I grew, towering as I could.
I cherished the support of the roots of those that held me
Those who supported me ‘till I could support myself
A weed I was, but that I am, no longer. I am now,
A full, fledgling plant, standing on my own
My buds preparing to present,
Unsheathing the glorious
Color I hold.
But what color am I?
My budding potential hidden,
Inside the twists of my furled petals.
How tall and radiant and healthy and striking
I can become, are all endless, protected within my petals.
It is my chance now to show the Others who I am, my color.
But challenges have arisen. Now more than ever,
Cold winds blow, the frost has come.
Can I survive the challenge?
The arrival of nightfall?
I look to my filaments,
And to those holding strong,
Around me, sheltered to the cold, as I am.
They too struggle, though we all shelter close.
How ever the frost covers their fragile buds, we all subsist.
I feel in their roots, as I know in mine. We can, will endure.
It’s harsh, though we are almost arrived. Spring.
The presence of a new Sun, with its security.
If we hold our stems resilient,
We will make it through.
We can flower,