Group 1 – First Prize
Rose in the Garden
By Victoria Glista
I am born, I sprout,
olive stemmed and stout,
my petals like a cool satin,
their flowers starting to fatten.
I feel the bladed edge,
As I’m removed from the sedge.
Earth patted ‘round my roots,
as I am planted near the fruits.
I grow and I flower,
more stunning by the hour,
but soon you forget about me,
no watering, no food, nothing from thee.
Footsteps, heavy, boots!
A bang, a gun shoots.
Men of War, I find out,
as I am trampled by scouts.
Guns, blood, killing and more,
I’m shocked by the amount of gore.
I’m so withering and small,
with no care at all.
Where am I? I ask,
in death do I bask?
Has your war killed me…
Or am I still that budding, Rose in the Garden?