Poem: Late

Late

The bloom has not emerged
though the plant lives and grows,
is tended, watered,
has enough sun.
It should bloom
but it has not,
seems stubborn,
an obstinate refusal
to reach its destined state.
There must be a reason,
something that is missing.
A plant does not choose to wait,
to put off its budding for a week,
or I do not think that is how it works,
not that I am an expert at all.
I know it should bloom.
Perhaps it will, soon.
I hope it does.
I have worked so
to keep it safe and well
so it may blossom.
All I can think to do
is hope it does.

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