Of Beautiful Parts

The petal dropped from the flower
And so the flower drooped
And though it was spring and it would surely grow another
It had become rather fond of that particular petal
Though it had not realized its fondness
Until the petal was descending seemingly in slow motion
Ever away

The spring waxed and it waned
And more petals fell, and more petals grew
But the flower never forgot that first petal
And it mourned, drooping
Even in the brightest sun or warmest breeze
It never regained its composure
Refusing to face the sun as it once had
And then, much without noticing
In a stiff breeze, the entire flower plucked itself
From the tip of the branch that budded it

And the tree it had been growing on smiled
A lonely, heartbroken smile
That remembered every flower it had ever produced
Every leaf it ever added to the autumn scene
Each one of them could have been a tear
If trees cried as humans do
But as the flower struck the ground
After the stiff breeze that morning in late spring
It toddled languidly away…

The smile was every bit as jubilant as it was mournful
For the tip of the branch, now devoid of petals
Bore a symbol of hope
No, not a symbol
It bore the embodiment of hope
And as the tree looked around at the forest surrounding
It remembered how each had come from…

A bud. A petal. A flower. A seed.
All fallen.
All simply moments in time.
Their own encasements
Of feeling
Their own reminders
Of seasons past
Their own realizations
That, in order to grow
There must be loss
Sometimes, of beautiful parts





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