Rose

You'll see...

Rose

I’ve never been the tallest rose. But I’ve never been the shortest rose. I’ve never been the sweetest smelling rose. But I’ve never been the most putrid rose. My petals were never the reddest, nor were they ever the blandest. My leaves were never the greenest, nor were they ever the brownest. I’ve never been the best rose, but I’ve never been the worst rose. I’m just an average rose. But there’s something special about me, even though I’m just an average rose.

Spring is the time when children come out to play, their laughter and shouts dominating the day. And when the children come, bubbling with joy, trampling on the grass and ugliest roses. They skip along and pass me without a second glance, and stop at a cluster where the prettiest roses are. They pick the prettiest roses one by one, until the pretty roses are no more. The children bicker over who gets which rose, fighting and scrambling to get the best pick of them all. At the end of the day, when the children must go home, the crickets chirp and nestle under my petals .But because I’m just an average rose, I’m not trampled or picked. And for that, I’m glad I’m just an average rose.  

 

As Spring draws to an end, the roses are but a scattered few, and I am one of those few. Even as the other roses begin to wilt and die, the children still come once more, their twinkling laughter coming to an end. The roses are gone, all except for me. I am the last rose, the last rose of the Spring. And, the children come to me, tearing at each other to pick me, all so desperately wanting the last rose of the Spring. And as I heave my last breath, I smile. Although there have been times I wished I was taller, sweeter, redder, and greener, it’s been good being me.