I was a mere dry seed,
Did not give a heed,
I would grow to be a flower or a ****.
Fed with water and nutrients,
I woke up with a start,
I was beginning to sprout,
Into a young plant,
With leaves tender and pliant,
Welcome little one,
Called the Sun.
Soon on the stem,I had rose buds,
The sepals held them tight,
Here was their plight,
To blossom, be plucked and taken,
Or stay on the stem and be forgotten.
An angelic sweet lady plucked it and held it to her bossom,
So great was her joy and mirth,
That all the buds blossomed forth,
Spring was in the air,
The butterflies hovered on them for their nectar.