There was a rose bush
We planted in our yard
It did not yield any flower
Past when it was expected to
I could not believe it could not
It seemed most unnatural for it to
Be so unproductive to not fufil
Its purpose in a life we had brought
Into the world with our diligent care
I felt personally responsible for its
Infertility and pleaded with it everyday
To at least come out with one blossom
To remember it by before we vacated ----
It seemed to have listened and the day
We left the city behind it had a lovely bud.
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