Withering Petals

I

A beautiful rose bud I planted

in my little garden, excited

and pleased with my self ,that breath

I poured into the petals that blush.

Evening I saunter to look at growing miracle,

simple red rose, that captured  spectacle

of setting sun and stitched cloth for itself

Oh! what an image that pleased my eyes.

After moon completed the celestial walk,

the petals blossomed at the call of cock

swaying, I saw, petals of impish delight

with every passing breeze and wishing wind.

II

The snow was falling in layers

as if a giant woodcutter above sawing timbers,

my beautiful rose was there in morning

sans bloom, alas! struck the spell of mourning.

"You can't do this...", I bemoaned to withering petals,

"Yesterday beautiful you were like a smile,

but now you look like smudged papers

life drenched and taken to a dozen mile."

Withering petals closed in further unperturbed

by my accusations nor unending advises,

"Expansion of life, contraction is death, O! rose bud

so why do you close in holding life's secrets."

Petals amused by bromides I bored

opened ever so slight pouring out light bright,

"My dear! How funny you like this fraud

glibly, ask I with no shame nor fright

purpose of existence these petals have

once I realize the truth beyond the red fence."

I shrugged my shoulders and picked the fallen 

after last shrivels without a quiver

"True", I concede at last to the new pollen

"Once I walked a mile afar

should I shudder and crawl forever"

A few petals forever blossomed

in my little garden at road's end.