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@Dakota, well, I guess the tale about the Rose and talking flowers turned out as a poem… I don’t have a name for it yet, though. And please tell me if you think this is too long. Anyway, enjoy!

 

Once there bloomed a Rose.

Her petals are beautiful and scarlet.

As the lovely garden grows,

The flowers sing cheerfully.

High, high, high in a bush,

Dances the prettiest Rose.

The peaceful wind rustles the grass lush.

The air swirls in garden fragrance.

Above float clouds white,

Ginormous and bellowing and awesome.

The sun flares bright in brilliant light.

The Rose laughs merrily.

She spins gracefully, gazing

Upon sweet and beloved flowers.

Indeed, the sight is quite amazing!

Her eyes flutter romantically.

The horizon dark in night,

Speckled in glimmering stars,

Casts pale and elegant moonlight

Upon the perfect and vibrant Rose.

But dreaded secrets of

 That to come lay veiled in mystery.

Each flower sparkles in love

And beauty, but, all is vanity.

Flowers blue as ice,

Flowers crimson as flames,

Flowers mean and nice.

Flowers with petals rich and gold,

Flowers of exotic rainbow colors,

Flowers great and bold.

Flowers beautifully designed,

Flowers delicate and unique,

Flowers of every kind;

In certain time do all these wilt and perish.

Petals are blown

Through wind and over hills.

The awe-striking garden shown

Lies in doom and utterly alone.

The Rose weeps, heartbroken.

Stones and weeds are scattered about.

Flowers fade, to never be awoken.

Rain droplets splatter cursed soil.

Cold bitter air

Howls angrily at the Rose.

Reality morphs into a nightmare;

Her dying petals are coated in frost.

But there advances a shadow.

The Rose blinks and narrows her eyes.

A fellow appears, dressed in bright yellow.

Behold, it is he who planted the garden!

“Why are you crying?”

Questions the Gardener.

“Why? Because the garden is dying!”

Cries the Rose in reply. “And so am I!”

The Gardener kneels,

Smiling kindly at the Rose.

“Your heart feels

Suffering utterly and deep.

But do not fear.

For, once more, this garden

Shall blossom the coming year.

As shall you, dear Rose.”

The Gardener disappears,

Leaving the words to hang in crisp air.

 Pain, unpleasant and horrid, sears

And burns, clawing at her in despair.

The Rose closes her eyes.

Wilting, wilting, wilting…

She mutters her goodbyes,

And fades, vanquished.

The wind tears at her petals,

Sucking them up into the air.

The sky piercing and sharp as jagged metals,

The clouds flash storms and lightning bolts.

Nevertheless, the dreary times flicker past.

The sun flares golden and pure.

For at last,

Flowers sprout in dark soil.

Once more the Rose arises,

Her wonderful beauty restored.

“The magnificent surprises

In nature hidden are quite unpredictable!”

She laughs, casting a glance

At her magical, blossoming paradise.

Flowers sing and dance.

The Rose cries tears of joy.

The Gardener’s promise rang true!