The rain has finally ceased, leaving none untouched and dry.
Your eyes fall upon a flower, so still, so innocent.
Crooked and bent from the undying wind,
you, its savior from its relentless master.
Plucking it from its roots, you caress the twisted stem.
Uneven is the surface, thanks to its defense of prickly thorns.
Following the shape, winding like a staircase, your fingers make their way to the top.
O, rose, show me an ounce of your majesty!
The aroma captivates your senses.
All hairs stand on end.
So delicate are the petals - spinning, twirling, all t'wards el centro.
How gentle her creator must be!
Weighed down by drops of dew, the petals droop lower.
Even so, each radiates brilliance beyond compare.
In closer you look, so curious and caring.
In it you find no scientific discovery, yet such an incomparable treasure.
In your hands, you hold enlightenment.
As this rose was trampled on the ground,
so are you reminded of One, who did the same for you.