Rose Poem by Susha Strauss

You call me a rose, for I stand tall and proud
My petals nurtured and beautiful
And I am happy for who I am
But the seeds of generations past
Decide to bring me down, under the ground with them
And though they do this
They are ignorant and deaf to the sound
Of my petals withering, crinkling with every
Pull, and my stem now bending over in pain and death.
And my head so low, I can touch the ground
My stem is so different now, it use to
Be straight, tall, and proud and use to sway
in the winds of hope. But I am now to bent
to relish the feel of the winds moving through
My petals, my stem, my being. But the
Seeds know what they want and are
Blind to think that the tears, I shed
Is rain falling from my leaves
Nurturing them with every drop.