My short-haired, dark-eyed precious friend,
planted in the 1900s in radiant Californian atmosphere,
leisurely grew a sturdy, straight as an arrow backbone
and hands that outstretched and searched
for the daily, warm sunshine and occasional, torrential storms.
I constantly worried for her,
since her stem was wider than most
and her curious mouth spoke quicker
than her mind could think,
which got her in trouble at school
and inspired even more trouble at home.
My endearing friend sprouted and bloomed
as bright and beautiful as a rose,
as well as sharp and dangerous as its thorns.
She swayed in the gentle winds of compliments
and pricked when criticisms got too close.
My harsh voice among others shook her delicate petals
ands a way of protection she fastened herself tight.
Frustratingly my soft, tender fertilization
never worked to salvage her trust.
I promised to set her in a sturdy vase of glass
and to pour in only the most rejuvenating water
with round, smooth pebbles so
that she could be guided to an easy life by
reliable stepping stones.
But she shied and bent away from me
and oh, there came the bossy busy bees
that buzzed in her ear and caused her beauty
to wear and tear with staggering experience of
how souls with tongues that dripped with honey could
cause the most burning stings.
And she wilted and I watched as day
by day her color faded and the stem,
the backbone she had relied on,
surrendered and bowed to misery.
So I uprooted her from the wicked soil
and re-planted her in my beating heart,
where my clement blood rushed to
re-color her with a healthy blush of red,
far from the keen killer bees
lead by the poisonous queen bee.
Her heart, reborn in my loving soul,
pounded in tune with the beat
of the syllables of the word: awesome.