The rose fell from the bush

and tumbled into the grass,

to wither and die like all

the rest who grew too weak

to remain, heads lifted up to the sun.

Until it saw you,

and you it; collected it,

tucked it safely into the centre

of your palm, found a bowl

to lay it to rest in water

to watch it bloom again:

full and crimson velvet petals,

the lips of Mother Nature

poised to kiss you, ‘thank you’.

Photograph & poem: © Kristiana Reed 2019

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