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