I brought that pot of flower home with tender care,

Yet seasons passed – no bloom was waiting there.

Months slipped away, then years quietly moved on,

I kept asking why no bud chose to appear.

I played the gardener’s role with patience and grace,

With water and hope, I nurtured it here.

At times it seemed a bud might finally rise,

But dry leaves gathered—nothing but illusion, unclear.

When hope itself had quietly faded away,

A silent bud blossomed, soft and sincere.

Adorned in violet blooms, it healed the waiting heart,

A gentle reminder—faith is always near.

Keep doing your part without longing for reward,

For in time, every effort finds its sphere.

~ Dawn