Tulip

In the prime of her life,

She lies awake all night,

With a humming bee singing her plight,

In the darkness of the distant stars,

She grants the swift mild breeze,

The scent of her beauty , just to please,

As the tides gush towards the guiding moon,

She ploughs the deep blue treasures with her tangling key,

Her roots kiss the mud, for her soul’s plea,

In the soft glow of twilight,

She blooms into grace, with her enchanted self,

Whether in a garden, or in a clay pot over the shelf,

In the life that she lives selflessly,

She grows from a bud to a flower, giving endlessly,

She dries towards death, but never weeps, although upon someone’s shrine ,

She honor’s with her presence, even while withering like a pine.