Mostly I go unnoticed, unseen.
Waiting quietly, blended in the scene.
There’s a lot of me left – though bended with age.
People look as scanning a page.
“Gorgeous roses,” I hear in the Spring
“See the glistening water drops,” after the rain.
Summer’s the time they care for me. I stand up straight for all to see.
They feed and water and keep me trimmed.
Take some beauties inside to the den.
Fall? The job is growing too hard,
they quit caring about the yard.
Winter has come, I try still to gleam.
But, to my sorrow, I remain unseen.
Friday Fictioneers. One hundred word challenge using photo as prompt. Thanks much to https://rochellewisoff.com/ Rochelle and to Dale Rogerson for the prompt.
About oneta hayes
Hello. To various folks I am Neat’nee, Mom, Grandma Neta, Gramma, Aunt Neta, Aunt Noni, Aunt Neno, and Aunt Neto (lots of varieties from little nieces and nephews). To some I’m more like “Didn’t you used to be my teacher?” or “Don’t I know you from someplace?” To you, perhaps, I am a Fellow Blogger. Not “fellow” like a male or a guy, but “fellow” like a companion or an adventurer. I would choose to be Grandma Blogger, and have you pull up a chair, my website before you, while I tell you of some days of yore. I have experienced life much differently than most of you. It was and is a good life. I hope to share nuggets of appreciation for those who have gone before me and those who come after me. By necessity you are among those who come after me and I will tell you of those who came before. Once upon a time in a little house on a prairie - oops, change that lest I commit plagiarism - and change that “house on the prairie” to “dugout on the prairie.” So my story begins...
Thank you, Athira.
Wonderfully written… leaves so much to ponder.
Wow, M. Thank you. Hopefully I’m drawing attention to the old and alone, those whose hair is no longer gray – because there is no longer any hair. I’m being a bit facetious there. 😀
Lol… I think you’re drawing attention to everyone. 😉
It is hard for me to understand how the young, healthy, and beautiful still feel left out and lonely, but I guess you are right. A lot of bloggers seem to feel that way. Probably people we meet also, but bloggers are more apt to take their masks off.
There’s definitely a difference here. We all form such close connections with the people here on WP. Everyone feels like family to me and so this is where I go when I need some encouragement or inspiration. After all, who can understand us more than another writer? There’s always something to relate to here.
Ho. That’s us. You and me. Good day to you, dear M.
You too! ❤️
I enjoyed reading your poem. You show how we take for granted many of the beautiful flowers we see.
True. I get so excited at the newness of each spring, then start taking the beauty for granted, then stop taking care – and the cycle continues.
Spiritually I see so much in what is written here. Thank you. I am praying for revelation.
Hopefully it speaks to people in their various needs, especially to open eyes to the needs of the lonely.
Never mind. Spring soon
New crop. Way of things. I’ve got no kick about it.
Yep. When one is young, strong, and beautiful. Before the “call us if you need anything” stage. I sound like I’m pining for myself; I am not. I have a bunch of peers (many widowed or widowers) for whom is am empathetic.
This was beautiful, thank you for sharing.
Thank you, Nichika. I’ll watch for you next week.
Wonderful personification poem. Really pulls empathy to those roses who give so much pleasure when people care to notice and care for them.
Thank you. You are a master in the comments arena. You know so well just the right words to say.
You are welcome and thank you very much, Oneta.
A beautiful poetic story about the overlooked. Nicely done! =)
Thank you, Brenda. Smiles back to you.
Love this poem’s use of roses as a metaphor for old age, when in contrast to youth, we go “unseen” and less valued. Beautifully penned.
The message intended; I’m glad it came through. And I appreciate you taking time to tell me so. Thanks much.
You’re welcome, Oneta, I really enjoyed it.
Dora said it better than I can, but I enjoyed reading your poem
Hey, “enjoyed it” is good! Thanks.