Today is International Women’s Day. A day we celebrate how far women have come.
And they have gone the distance.
But we also remember the women before, and the women of the present, who still remain the the beautiful rose on the table.
Praised. Appreciated?
When beauty is praised, the roots that were cut are rarely seen.
🌹🖤🌹🖤🌹🖤🌹🖤🌹🖤🌹
At the table’s centre, in full bloom
A rose offered across the room;
Its red hues, the crowd does praise,
To its lovely form, toasts they raise.
🌹🖤🌹🖤🌹🖤🌹🖤🌹🖤🌹
But it seems pinned, it does stay still,
its stem does bend to perfect will;
It remains kept, stays in a vase
Petals shine bright red when asked.
🌹🖤🌹🖤🌹🖤🌹🖤🌹🖤🌹
They praised the bloom, its petals fine
Cut from its roots for all to shine;
But its wilting leaves, all do ignore
Its heartfelt pleas, how it implores
🌹🖤🌹🖤🌹🖤🌹🖤🌹🖤🌹
The flower knows, accolades come
Only when their will is won;
Its quiet form, by others shaped
On the table, for others laid.
🌹🖤🌹🖤🌹🖤🌹🖤🌹🖤🌹
And the rose does own, as it debuts,
That its blood red hue, a substitute;
It waits for all, it bides its time
To partake of hard-won wine.
🌹🖤🌹🖤🌹🖤🌹🖤🌹🖤🌹
Poetry often speaks differently to each reader. If this rose stirred a thought or feeling for you, I would be glad to hear it.
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