The Flower Which Blooms Late

by Harshita Das aged 15

It’s been days
It’s been months
It’s been years
But there’s nothing to say
Nothing to see
Nothing to hear
The flower hasn’t bloomed
Hope is lost each day
It waits for its calling, its pollen
Yet its bud is unmoved
Its prayers ignored
Dreams all forgotten
Late blooming flowers
And failure
Are best friends
They end up with all the power
While rest of us slowly learn to fail
In the end

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