The Bloom

A horticulturist by trade
One day upon his garden gazed;
Collections of the prized and rare,
Together with the common fair.

Now in one corner of this plot,
A withered bud began to rot.
"A tragedy" the folks declared
And at this gardener they glared.

For once upon that very stem
Was found a budding blooming gem.
"A masterpiece" the people said.
But now it hung all limp and dead.

"'Twas your neglect," the neighbors stated,
"And you this bloom eradicated."
So thus the accusations flew,
As our dear friend at once withdrew.

And contemplated what they'd said
Reclining on his garden bed.
Although he knew great care he took,
Upon a careful, closer look,

He realized mistakes he'd made.
And so its death, the price he paid.
"But wait!!" he yelled in joyous tones,
Which cut right through the choir of moans.

"Although this bud will bite the dust,
Then rot decay and turn to must.
The ground below will fertilize
As our dear plant will energize.

And thus its form and size will change.
And though right now it may seem strange.
One day you'll pass this way again,
And look, and look and stare and then,

A new bud in its blooming phase
Will earn your highest form of praise."