Oh little bud upon the bush
Give one more push!
And poke your salmon coloured nose
Through the green cap that grows
To keep you warm and dry.
It holds you tight
And lets you see the light
You need to help you grow.

Don't touch this bud!
Just let it be and let it grow just so
No peeling back the sheath
To see its colours. No forcing heat, no elongated day
Or shortened night.
Just let the thing unfold.
It is itself.
It is not yours or mine.
It is its own.

If it is red we must not wish it pink
Or think that it is ours
To **** or pinch.

We can and must protect from harm
And shoo the greenfly.
We must keep it warm
In winter
Feed and water it.
But it
Is of itself.

And as it peeps
And shows its colour
We can 'Ooh!' and 'Aah!'
And love the thing it is.
And as it grows
And spreads its petals
We can look
But never touch its velvet softness
Less we leave a mark.

Left alone it reaches to the heavens
Opens
Drinks the sun and rain
And thrives.

Then in  its own time
When  the petals have reached out
To let the pollen dusted butterfly and bee take of their fill.
One by one, full ripe and satisfied the petals fall
And for awhile their beauty and their scent
Leaves soft remembrance.