One day as I sat by my window,
I looked out and saw that autumn had gone--winter was
here.
I quietly took in all the changes in the scenery-bare
trees,
dead grass, empty land.
My eyes drifted across a desolate field.
Near the edge I saw something queer to me.
As I quickly dressed in warm gear,
I tried to comprehend what I had seen.
No, this can't be happening, I thought.
It's a miracle!
I ran to the field and saw an
unbelievable sight.
A small seedling was growing all alone at the edge.
It was only a shoot that had somehow
managed to break through the semi-frozen ground,
but I knew if I nurtured it, it would grow to bloom and
reproduce.
I decided to keep this miracle a secret.
I didn't want people to discourage my intent
to harbor this fragile blossom.
As days passed my secret continued to
grow slowly and steadily.
Winter passed into spring and spring into summer.
As time continued on, I grew to love my special joy more
and more.
I loved to watch it grow
and couldn't wait for the day that it would finally
flower.
Eventually a bud appeared and I excitedly awaited the new
arrival.
Summer was almost over.
As I sat talking to my growing beauty,
I saw the first petals of a bud begin to unfold.
I was enthralled in the beauty of it all.
And as the sun descended, ending another day,
I vowed to be there the next morn to witness the birth of
a flower.
As I walked up to my special spot
expecting to see
the joy of a new beginning,
I could barely comprehend what I saw!
Disaster had struck.
My beautiful plant was no longer standing.
It was dead, the stem crushed to the ground.
WHY, I screamed to the vast sky!
It was a miracle of life.
It had withstood the dead of winter
only to be extinguished at the dawn of its blossoming.
I looked in vain to see the cause of its crushed stem.
Only then did I see the beauty of it.
The bud was open, it had blossomed!
It was a fragile pink flower.
My fragile flower--for I had nourished it for so long.
As I reflected upon all my sorrow wondering why I had
been hurt so bad,
I realized I had been let down.
I had grown accustomed to the presence
of my flower.
Naturally I assumed that something that could bring me
such joy
would be around quite a long time.
I no longer looked to put the blame of its death on
anything.
For it was special, it had lived.
And I would always cherish my memories
of watching it grow
and seeing it get stronger.
Although I would never experience the joy of the live
blossom
or the reproduction of more of its kind,
I know my love for it will live forever in my heart.
