A Blossom swayed under the Silver Moon
It wondered where it would go tomorrow
When it bloomed at the Sun’s first ray.

It might be a part in the worship of God,
Or woven in a bouquet to add to its scent
Or adorn a pretty girl’s curling locks.

It might be a Lover’s Red Rose
Meant to be gifted to his lady love
Or stripped petal by petal on a pitch or toss.

Or would it be placed in a beautiful vase
For passers by to savour its sight.
Or wafted away by a strong gale
To a far and distant land.

Or would it be spared by a merciful heart
To stay there on the trees tangled boughs
And crumble and fall at sunset.

It sighed to itself “Morning would decide.”
Hissed to its friends a “happy, good night”
And surrendered itself to nights inviting spell.
As the cool breeze swept under the silver moonlight.

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