(The Rose)
—
For days, it had grown,
Sprouting from the soil,
Petals red like velvet, smooth as silken cloth.
He would acquiesce in bitter derision
At his mother’s suggestion,
And so, he ignored it.

The seeds, he planted
Long before winter’s end.
They said it would not sprout, would not grow,
It would die in the dirt from which it was said to blossom.
They spoke of frost and chill,
Of moles and rats,
Rummaging through the crop and finding there
The silken red.
And yet, he ignored them.

Now, it stood,
Waiting to be picked.
He reached down, taking it from its mound.
She could not refuse him now.
“I grew it, since winter,
Just for you.”
The door shut in his face.

Explanation

I was watching a movie, if I remember correctly, and this idea just flickered into my head. There is no real personal story behind this; it was a little idea that just, quite truly, appeared. First, I tried to write this as a prose piece, but I can never write prose with distractions around me, and I had to quickly figure this out in the library lab.

It is about a boy who has been growing a rose in his backyard, as there is a girl he is trying to impress. When he finally picks it and brings it to her, she is not impressed, and so, slams the door in his face.

Image: https://giphy.com/gifs/beautiful-rose-red-deRD4j1PayCTC