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I always start out so bare each year, my roots spreading ever more as the ground thaws, the snow melting and signalling the start of warmer days. My thorns are primed to fend off those who try to threaten me, I've often been called a difficult plant, fussy, and weak. But let it be known I simply sleep in those colder months, now they have passed and I am hungry.
Finally, food is given, buried by my roots, freshwater joins it soaking my roots and offering a much-needed drink in the heat of the day, new leaves start to grow from my thorny canes, and leaves once of purple turn to vibrant green as I prepare for my show, the opening act must come first before the main event, the months past and my buds appear, eyes always watching, you see not once have my roses have been the same, this human always wonders what colour I'll be. one year I was a beautiful buttercup yellow with pink edges, the colour many expect. But the next I was a cheeky peachy colour, then I was an ivory white, this year, I wonder what colour I'll be? What colour shall my flowers be? I always like to bloom first, to start the season with my vibrant colours, all the others are always the same but not me, no, I love to offer a surprise. So this year, let's aim for a warm orange, to throw them off even more, I might even throw my supposed normal colour in as well and watch their gaze.
Once my blooms have opened it is entertaining to watch the confusion, to see the other roses look in shock as I offer a surprise. The delighted look on that human's face as we are all cared for tenderly, weeds removed, fed and watered, with strange showers that help keep those nasty bugs from our buds. Each year is a show, but who says it must be the same?
Finally, food is given, buried by my roots, freshwater joins it soaking my roots and offering a much-needed drink in the heat of the day, new leaves start to grow from my thorny canes, and leaves once of purple turn to vibrant green as I prepare for my show, the opening act must come first before the main event, the months past and my buds appear, eyes always watching, you see not once have my roses have been the same, this human always wonders what colour I'll be. one year I was a beautiful buttercup yellow with pink edges, the colour many expect. But the next I was a cheeky peachy colour, then I was an ivory white, this year, I wonder what colour I'll be? What colour shall my flowers be? I always like to bloom first, to start the season with my vibrant colours, all the others are always the same but not me, no, I love to offer a surprise. So this year, let's aim for a warm orange, to throw them off even more, I might even throw my supposed normal colour in as well and watch their gaze.
Once my blooms have opened it is entertaining to watch the confusion, to see the other roses look in shock as I offer a surprise. The delighted look on that human's face as we are all cared for tenderly, weeds removed, fed and watered, with strange showers that help keep those nasty bugs from our buds. Each year is a show, but who says it must be the same?