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.