There once bloomed an orchid, so vivid, so bright, Its petals like fire, a breathtaking sight.
But time, as it does, cast a sorrowful shade, and one quiet evening, its color did fade.
It sat in its pot on a ledge near the pane, wilted and weary from shadow and rain.
No whispers were spoken, no tear ever shedβThe world moved along, thinking it dead.
Seasons passed by, as the calendar turned, and memories of blossoms no longer burned.
But one golden morning, kissed by the sun, new buds began bursting, one by one.
For hidden from view in the still of each week, was a hand that was gentle, quiet and kind.
A soul who believed when all others forgot, still watered with hope that bloomed in the pot.
You see, though the orchid seemed lost in despair, it was tended with patience, with love and with care.
Not all growth is loud, some grace takes its time, and beauty may sleep 'til the moment is prime.
