when the bud spoke

and the tiny bud
she spoke to me -
'sshh, be silent,
don't proclaim your arrival
to the world just yet,
it's not time,
let the sun come out
and soak you in her warmth,
and leave you every evening
without a second look,
let the wind stroke you
with her long fingers,
and slap you across your face,
so you feel your own petals,
let the rain drizzle
her gentle faith,
and then thresh you
in her persistent fury,
as you hold on,
and then, one day,
you will know
you are open
and ready
for the bees and butterflies,
you will know
you were always ready
for all of life,
when you came to life,
to die.'