I am thinking of a rosebud that is high up on a shelf;
That is infixed, seeming guarded, by the thorned bush in the vase,
It is very newly budding on a stalk all by itself,
And amongst its full-bloomed siblings, verily looks out of place.

I am looking at a lily, young and new and on the water,
Leaves out-spread and basking cleanly in the early morning sun.
In the brakish underwater, two large eyes swim quickly after.
For that lily, sparkling silly, must the toad defile for fun.

I am dreaming of the linen mother left to dry this morning
After soaking overnight and washing thoroughly at dawn,
In the early morning hours was my spirit early waking,
Clearly shaken, for the cloth was dirtied on the muddy lawn.

'Twas for fun, the kids that tore her from the highest drying line,
Home from farming, thought to clean their dirty fingers on her white.
Clean they did on mother's linen, but to them the dirt was fine.
Did not bother for the expense of their cheap and selfish blight.

I am hurting for the clear brook that is stirred up by the hiker's
Mindless straying into water that is home to plant and fish.
Worse, the dirty, muddy tires of the eager mountain bikers
Do not seem to get my message that they're actions are selfish.

Ask me why I bother dearly, to wake up so cold and early
When the lives of men and women are at need and must not wait.
Ask me why I seem to bother, why I fret and why I worry,
When what needs to happen happens, why I stop and instigate.

It's a keen philosophy that most escapes the pitter-patter
Of the daily selfish urge to get what one feels he must get.
When in haste we do not think of all the harm we do to others
And lose sight of many little failings that we must regret.

Now I see that feeble rosebud, that is high up on the shelf,
That is certainly well guarded by the thorned bush in the vase.
She is very newly budding on a stalk all by herself;
And about, her full-bloomed siblings must protect her private place.