The little worker, working hard
Following those who came before, showing
One way to do it, she was told.
Being like the rest to fill her role.
Work hard but you don’t need play
Devote yourself to a point of no control
What is “no”? You shouldn’t know.
But one day, one fated day
She stopped. She smelled a rose.
So precious, so delicate,
So in need of her.
She would do it, she decided.
Thoughts flooded in, guilt barricaded
“No you have a path, a written role.”
She wavered slightly, but stood her ground.
“n-no… No. NO!
I love this rose. I need this rose.
To care for, to nurture.
To be my escape.“
The ground shook, the rest whispered
As she spoke words not written
Not taught or passed down.
They watched her smile for herself,
2 thoughts on “Rose”
This poem is so beautifully written.