He snipped a wild rose from
its bush a newly born bud
its delicate pink petals tiny and still
embracing each other tightly
forming a tiny cone.
He brought it home.
Four days later the bud still hadn’t opened
it stood in a black bottle closed tight.
He had broken it off the bush too early
for it to bloom
If he had left it there it would be blooming by now
along with all the other roses
displaying its splendour for all to see.
Could it be that there’s still hope within it’s hidden centre.