The Dance

In the quiet of the night
learning poetry was contentment,
till there was a knock on the door
and an offer to dance.
A flower hesitated to bloom
in an uncaring world.
Who would notice her colours anyway?
Shyly her petals began to unfold.
How bold this dance made her feel.
Her colours began to radiate...
the most precious flower of the garden.
She stood tall, gaining strength in her stem.
Never before were her colours noticed.
She became tangled in the tango
revealing her morning dew
within her unfolded sepal.
During the intensity in the heat of the dance
the heart of the flower had been eaten.
This began the demise of the flower.
Her petals began to fall, one by one.
Once a muse for passionate poetry...
now left out in the rain to welter and cry.
The strength drained from her stem,
her colours sunk to the ground.
Yet still, her fragrance fills the air,
she knows this dance will not be forgotten.