To Pluck a Bloom
A young girl plucked a flower ‘side a dry and dusty path,
its struggle a miracle of being,
and she looked upon it with beauteous green eyes,
seeing its beauty out of dust,
but soon, the smile upon her delicate face faded, she
realizing that all this blooms aspirations she had quelled,
taking its very life to hold within her hands,
such an irony of circumstance.
Guilt did pervade her being,
and as young as she was this truth did sting,
that selfish acts in beauty’s name were wrong,
and life in any form was precious to behold
but never owned or taken,
regardless of adoration or through beauty’s eyes
mistaken for a right,
just because we have the power to end a life.
Beside that road she dug a small grave,
and gave that bloom a burial,
back to the earth that nurtured its arise,
and in sadness apologized for her thoughtless act;
and so a young girl, barely teen,
did dream of beauty and so adored Mother’s gifts,
but from that day on she would tend life with different colored eyes,
for we are all just as a flower by a path, in struggle.
Tony DeLorger © 2017
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Oh, so true, Tony. To pluck a being from life for the sake of adoration and to hold it close is taking away the reason for its beauty. The sorrow of seeing it die is a hard lesson in life. Lovely, sad lesson and so excellently penned. Great work.
Much appreciated Phyllis, one of the many ironies of human thought and action. Cheers!