A Flower in the Meadows

A flower in the meadows,

Blooming and brimming with its silky petals.

The wind carries on the memory of a broken rose,

Flowing through the plains of a thousand flowers.

A lone gardener tends to them,

Nurturing them, sings to them.

He hums a familiar tone,

Watering every single leaf.

A child merrily frolicking in the distance,

Singing a childish hymn.

The gardener picks a flower in the meadow,

An adult embodying a soul of a child.

There’s none like him, but there are more like it.

He accepts the rose,

As it fades into the ocean-blue skies.