Poems (Hoffman)/The Bloomed Bud
THE BLOOMED BUD
Poor, distorted little roseNot yet ready to unclose,Who's to blame for all your woes?
What impatient little spriteWrought your ruin and your blight?Torn and rumpled, such a plight.
Active fingers could not wait,Sunbeams were too slow and late,Strangest wonders they create.
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I saw a rosebud folded closeJust waiting to expand,Each petal of the perfect roseFormed by an Artist hand Lay like a tiny satin scroll, Only a sunbeam could unroll.
Faithful be the friends who love you,Rainbow hope your clouds dispel,Ever smile the sky above you,Daily gladness with you dwell.