It was so small and tightly curled, this rosebud in my hand
And in my haste to see it bloom, I pulled on silken strand
Each satin pink rose petal, I stripped away to find
Another yet more firmly curled, to the next it seemed to bind.
In grim resolve I tried to force the bud to blossom out
I thought if I kept on peeling-it would surely come about.
No soft petal resisted my rude fingers, each came away in shreds, ‘Til only an ugly stem remained-all its beauty dead.
It struck me then how I am like a rose so tightly curled
Impatient-I sit in the garden of life, just waiting to unfurl
I don’t like the stress of living, the heartache, pain or grief
I twist and turn and thrash about-beg God to send relief
But the master Gardener knows how much of each that it will take
To change this bud into a masterpiece that only He can make
And tho sometimes in vain attempt to make life turn out right
With my clumsy gestures-tangles just become more tight
But if I cease my struggling and submit to Him I know
My life will become what it’s meant to be-as God unfolds the Rose.
By Charlotte L. Pound