The Rose And The Evergreen

June 23, 2008
This is the tale of Delilah and Dean,
Delilah was a rose; Dean, an evergreen.
Delilah was a vixen, flirtatious and wild,
Dean was unnoticed, gentle and mild.

Delilah loved to boast and to lift her petals high up.
Dean loved but one thing; what he loved was Delilah.
Whenever he confessed his love to the rose
She would dazzle him more with a new divine pose.

Every morning when the sun would rise,
They would open their leaves (for plants had no eyes).
Dean would croon: “Oh, Delilah, how pretty you are”!
Delilah would show off her beauty some more.

“When people pass you, they say: ‘How lovely’!
Yet nobody loves me because I am ugly”.
This is what sorrowful Dean would say
To that gorgeous young rose, day after day.

Things stayed the same as more time went on,
Dean still sang to Delilah his flattering song.
People frowned at Dean’s needles, so sharp and pointy,
Yet they sighed at Delilah’s graceful beauty.

Yet more time flew,
As time tends to do.
The wind started to blow
And it started to snow.

That cold icy wind just went right on rustling,
The water was frozen; the streams had stopped hustling.
Snow started falling from the sky up above,
That season of ice known as winter had come.

The weather was ruthless to Delilah and Dean,
That poor little rose and evergreen!
The weather tried fiercely to make Dean fall,
But that brave little tree just kept standing tall.

The snow raved and battered,
But still, Dean would fight.
He stood tall as snow melted;
He braved Winter’s might.

But what of Delilah? That pretty young flower
Just couldn’t stand up to the winter’s great power.
When it came to looks, she was surely the best,
But her beauty proved worthless when put to the test.

Delilah had died, her petals so frail,
Had now become dry, withered and pale.
Her grace was gone now, nevermore to be seen,
Dean was alone now, that poor evergreen!

Plants have no hearts to be broken or pained,
But Dean still felt empty inside all the same.
But among all his feelings of sorrow and strife,
He knew not pretty petals, but needles saved his life.

No sweet-smelling fragrance, no petals like gems,
No striking colors, no delicate stems,
But sharp pointy needles, large branches for landing
These unsightly things are why he is still standing.

The things he had treated like hideous creatures,
Had turned out to be his most wonderful features.
So now just to add a wise final thought,
Stop wishing for more and embrace what you’ve got.

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