A new rose bud comes,
wrapped in a blanket
of cold and snow
A tiny ray of sun and love
That shines and brights
The darkness nights
The excitement builds
The wait seems long
Nine months
And rose bud
has not come
What it will be?
How it will look?
Nobody knows
But there will be
tears of joy
for a new life
Another hope
To a better start,
Perhaps...
So much potential
In such a tiny one!
© Gloria
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