By Sarah Alaeddin – Executive Editor
Spring is passing me by.
The temperate breeze is turning chilly,
The sun calls to me with his dimming rays,
But still I am nestled in my bud.
The rest of the garden exploded into green,
With decadent layers of bright petals,
Dancing in delight under dewdrops
While my leaves are weighed down by rain,
The sun scorching my eyes.
When will my turn come?
Is there a chance I’m not seizing?
Opportunity is a fly,
And I clasp my hands around it,
Only to separate my fingers
And find it vanished.
Perhaps I’m not reaching high enough,
Expanding my petals wide enough.
But I know that I am enough.
I’ll simply have to bloom
In another season.