A Rosebush

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Some plants won't grow until they are fed just right.

Submitted: December 11, 2016

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Submitted: December 11, 2016

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A Rosebush

 

I planted a rosebush to see if it would grow

and it certainly got bigger although I didn’t know

 

the first thing about gardening or any kind of plant --

being ignorant of the facts doesn’t mean I can’t.

 

I saw this little bottle that said plants would really flourish

adding just a drop to water would ensure that they were nourished.

 

I added it as stated but the miracle did not appear,

don’t believe the adverts – well that is kind of clear.

 

The bush it got much bigger and the leaves were strong and green;

the thorns upon the branches were the biggest that I’d seen.

 

I waited for those rose buds to make some kind of show

but whenever I inspected it I was greeted with a ‘no’.

 

Not a single bud appeared, let alone a flower,

the stems and branches get higher and would stretch right up a tower.

 

I don’t know what I’ve done so wrong, the bush it is still here,

but it is still not flowering as it grows from year to year.

 

I’m going to have to trim it and get it back in shape,

I’m tempted just to pull it up, fill the hole up with a rake --

 

but those thorns they’re pointing at me; one looks more like a claw,

as I go reaching in that bush I find so many more.

 

The blood drips from my fingers, it runs right off my hands,

this rosebush seems to lap it up wherever it then lands.

 

I’m going to have to give up, or at least make a retreat --

I’m really not quite ready though, to admit defeat.

 

And then just the next morning there are buds galore,

and each drop of blood those thorns bring just creates some more.

 

So forget the stuff in bottles for it seems that nature’s got a thirst,

for the red stuff flowing through my veins – okay, so do you worst.

 

When I am dead and buried I hope there’s a rosebush at my grave,

I kind of fitting tribute to all the blood I gave.


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