Someday In childish haste to grasp the rose, She crushed it 'tween her fingers.Now how to gently clasp she knows,But its husk is all that lingers.Yet the wilted rose is still to her most cherished, And she finds no other flower for which she yearns.So she leaves it 'neath the rosebush, perished, Nourished to bloom when someday she returns.
Sta.sh
