I used to tend to a single budding rose.

So delicate, so precious.

I poured my soul into taking care of it

Just so I could watch it drink in the sunshine.

(I didn't mind the thorns-

After all, what's a little pain

Compared to the glory of triumph?)



It soon grew into an entire rosebush.

I worked wearily, trying to trim it

So it wouldn't take over my yard.

And yet I couldn't bring myself 

To cut the single rose which started it all.

(I wanted to see it reach the sky

Away from the weeds and stones.)



One day, the rose simply broke off.

It lay dying at my feet, and,

With tearful eyes,

I attempted to save it.

(I knew it wouldn't survive long,

But all of us have felt

That greedy wish to capture

Fleeting beauty.)



It was only then that I saw

The choking, entangling snarls

That had killed the tender plants

Which had come before it.

(They had been so cheerful,

Thriving in a pastel life.)



Too numb to revive my dear ones,

I took the rose away

And staring with glacier shards,

I dipped it into liquid nitrogen.

(For a moment I smiled at its

Newfound beauty. But it would not last.)



I brought the frozen flower into the street,

Took one last glance

Filled with intermingling hate and love,

And dropped it indifferently

Onto the cold, hard pavement.

(I had never seen anything

Glittering so fiercely.)



I turned my back on the puzzle pieces,

Cut down the entire rosebush,

And began to tend to my original loves.

(They greeted me warmly and,

Ignoring the thorns still in my hands,

Grew to my touch, drinking in the sunshine

And growing to the sky.)