By Izabelle Mease

Too soon the day is here and she will leave,

The rose has blossomed, no more will it fade.

 She has grown up and now her wings will fly.

 For she knows that behind her lays a cloud,

Ready to catch her if she may falter.

As a seed she was watered with sweet dew.

The warmth of her home kept her petals fair.

A nest, a nest so lovely, and so safe.

The clock counts down to the end of this time,

The time as a child moves on to growth,

Rushing, rushing for the time to just come.

But when is does she is now so unsure,

As the cloud remains to catch a small fall.

She knows it will always be in her sky.

This small rose turning from bud to flower,

Is ready to scent the air with her life.

She will fly as great as the mighty owl,

Yet glide as graceful as the snow white swan.

Into the air she will rise all alone –

And look under to see her cloud awaits.