The Rose
Ideas, like butterflies
Fly out of a freshly opened glass jar
Filling dull, sullen days
With color, beauty, and light
Like bumblebees spreading pollen,
Word of ideas brings
Fresh growth, and attention
To a late blooming rose
Untouched, and untampered with
The rose will stay in bloom
For time to come,
But when cut off it's bush
The rose will soon cease to exist
Leaving it's glory only a distant memory
That will, apposed to lasting a lifetime
Soon be forgotten, and lost to all