By Chloe Bayliss
Between the grains of earth,
Past the squirming worms and crawling ants,
lies a seed,
It is cracked.
The tendril of root grasping for life,
Fighting to the surface with all its might.
Greeted by pinks and greens,
Blossoming yellow and whites.
Sprouting leaves for wings,
A throne of earth,
Red petals for a crown,
In a field of daisies, a single Tulip, unfound.
An Easter Egg of dairy milk,
Tucked away, unseen, until,
Reels of laughter, stamping feet,
The Tulip waved in the breeze.
Tiny hands of five or six,
Frizzy hair, a gapped tooth grin,
Skipped off with treasure so proud,
Passing the Tulip in the ground.
The Tulip grew to a joyful size,
Closing its petals, very shy,
Living its days in a field of bliss,
Waiting to be found, to be loved and missed.
Little Tulip in the ground,
Forever safe, forever bound,
To the field of daisies and large oak trees,
As tall as oak trees can be.
Growing in a life so strong,
Holding on to be kind and bold,
Little Tulip growing old and free,
Gently waving in the breeze.