Dear drying, wilting flower.
You were a witness to these decisive moments.
You came when we were at a crucial crossroad.
It was a make it or break it situation.
We had our backs against the wall.
Our hands were hanging limp, with discouragement.
We wondered, wounding, wounded.
We were hoping, groping in the obscurity.
Lost in the darkness of bitterness, anger, strife, and rage.
The murkiness of distrust and unforgiveness completely engulfed us.
You come to us at that moment, dear rose.
The vendor you belonged to approached our table.
“A rose, one euro each,” she said.
I saw you then, nestling with your buddies, in a sumptuous bouquet.
I never said a thing, all the time longing that my man would buy you for me.
He never seemed moved by you.
When I was about to give up, I heard him say”a dozen roses, please.”
There you were, our peace offering.
I held you tight, enjoying your delicate fragrance.
With each smell, my heart softened towards him.
In a silent understanding, we looked at each other and agreed to bury the hatchet.
I cradled you and your friends in my arms.
For you were the proof, of our cease-fire.
Dear rose thank you.