You blossom
a rose of dark beauty
and haunting fragrance.
I was the anxious gardener
fretting when life’s squalls
toil, loneliness, misunderstandings
buffeted you.
Too protective I neglected to prune
suckers of self-indulgence
pinch off messiness, self-pity
redirect a tendency to sulk.
The Master Gardener must have taken
His secateurs to you
for your petals that lately unfurl
are not the fruit of my
tentative touch.
–V.Nesdoly © 2004
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