by Amy Hyles: The following is a poem I wrote a few years ago while in college. At the insistence of a professor, I entered it into the university’s annual writing contest and placed honorable mention, which was an exciting surprise considering the poem’s conservative stand on a controversial issue.

The poem is a metaphor. You may catch the meaning right away; you may have to read it several times. If you don’t see it immediately, keep trying—you will be surprised. Hint: it addresses one of the most controversial issues facing our country, and world, today.

The Bud Unbloomed

The bud unbloomed, can it be called a rose?
The flower yet enclosed within the walls
That shield its petals from the thawing snows
Of winter. Premature, a shadow palls
This product of an early spring–a hand,
Still frigid from the cold, extends unnerved
And plucks the bud, just as its lips began
To purse, and crushes it beneath its curved
And fatal grasp. The bud unbloomed, the life
Entombed within its womb, the victim of
An early spring. No sponge nor sud can wipe
The crimson stain upon that hand or glove.
The bud unbloomed, the rose wrapped in its pall.
It might have been the beauty of them all.


[box]Written by Amy Hyles[/box]

Original poem can be found at http://amyhyles.com/2012/08/15/the-bud-unbloomed/

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