BLOOM

I cannot make the flower grow.
I can water it, place it in sunshine,
watch over it, turn it, be attentive,
but I cannot make it grow.
My words are empty, impotent, meaningless,
a never-ending circle of pointless reasoning
when words are not what she needs.
She simply needs time.
I can only sit by and watch,
waiting for the first green shoot,
the sprout, the leaf, the stalk,
and then the bloom.
But I cannot make the flower grow.
She will stand tall in the sunshine
when she is ready to.
And I can only wait.