June 6, 2013 § 1 Comment

she had grown tired
of being the rose –
wishing to initiate
instant change
and limp away from
her role as
the jewel of the garden

the chance to
sit on the porch
and interject her own
inconsistencies to familiar stories
would never come
she knew she would not
be allowed to lay low
when storms came
nor to dance
when they passed

she could only carry on
as the lilies bowed in reverence
and the sun flowers towered
above her

royal sentries for
unfulfilled monarch

(c) 2013 Fred Whitehead


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