Delicate Flower

Petals of pink lay on the the ground beneath my feet.

Picked up by the wind and carried down the streets.

Individual petals representing small parts of a whole,

Yet each piece has fallen, taking such a large toll.

The delicate flower, resting in the tree,

Broken and withered from the beauty it used to be.

Hour by hour the remaining petals begin to fall,

Staring and watching, I wait for them all.

The flower is gone, the beauty is no more,

The life and vibrancy lay broken on the floor.

But look to the spot where the flower once sat.

There is a small bud of light where life just fell flat.

The growth and aspiration of this tiny bud,

Makes up for the damaged petals laying in the mud.

There is enough power and determination within,

For this once shattered flower to blossom again.

E.K. Harmann