TheThornsWeNeverMeanttoGrow

A flower once welcomed a wandering bee,Beneath quiet skies where hearts wandered free.The bee circled gently, yet kept its distance,Unsure if the nectar concealed bitterness.

Day after day, the petals stayed open,Patient as dawn, silent as hope.At last, the bee gathered the courage to taste,And found not poison—but sweetness embraced.

The flower asked for no endless vows,Only one quiet wish:

Stay—not because you must,But because your heart has found its trust.

The flower would have gladly givenEvery drop of honey heaven had written.Even if the bee drank every trace,Its joy was simply the bee’s embrace.

Yet silence can grow where words are few,And fear can bloom beneath morning dew.The bee loved freely, but never could sayWhether its wings would forever stay.

The flower mistook that silenceFor the shadow of goodbye.Its heart, once soft as morning rain,Began to bloom with hidden pain.

So thorns appeared where petals had been,Born from doubt that stirred within.The flower never wished to breakThe fragile wings of its beloved bee.

The bee looked not into the flower’s heart,Only at the wounds that kept them apart.For love may forgive a thousand tears,But trust is slower to return than years.

And so the bee took the open sky,With one last glance, one last goodbye.It found another field to roam,Another blossom to call home.

Still the flower greets each rising sun,Though every spring feels one bloom undone.Its honey remains, untouched and sweet,A gift for wings it may never meet.

When evening lays its quiet veil,The flower bows before the gale—Not asking the bee to lose its sky,Nor begging time to rewrite goodbye.

It only hopes, in the hush of the breeze,For one faint hum still lingering there;Not to call the bee back home,But to remember it was never alone.