Place for Pride

by Harshita Das aged 13

The golden leaves of the maple tree
fell to the floor, one by one
until the ground was as gold as the setting sun
as far as the eye could see
then the Tulip teased and taunted
from beneath the barren bark
she pricked and prodded; with words sharp and stark
Mocked the ugly Maple; and her beauty she flaunted
as she stood with head held high
the only splash of color for miles around
and she failed to hear the damning sound
of flakes falling from the sky.
Then the Maple smiled, smug and wide
as the Tulip started to sink in snow
quivering when the wind started to blow
to no avail, she cried and cried
when birds began to chirp again
and the maple’s redhead grew
The haughty Tulip was noticed by few
and wilted and withered it will remain
by decree of the cold, cruel blizzard
which declared there to be no place for pride
in this World

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