Imagine a garden of flowers
With a rose in its midst in full bloom
This one blossom feels that it towers
Over all others sharing its space and room
It’s sure that its pedals are most plush
No other more red in its hue
No stem greener, no rival more lush
It sought every admirer’s view.
One day the gardener visited the flowers
For a customer desired a bouquet
They’d shared the same sun and showers
Shared the same rich soil day by day.
But the proud flower stretched tall its red blooming
Puffed itself to its broadest dimension
But the man searched out ones unassuming
Their modesty drew his closest attention.
For the budding roses would bloom with more vim
In the care of the interested client
Trusting food, water, and housing to him
The posy proved itself quite reliant.
But the abandoned, proud rose surely wilted
His pedals dropped one by sad one
By each customer it felt painfully jilted
Til finally it was dead and gone.
The moral of the story conjures sadness
But its truth we ought never to hide
Fullness of self is pure madness
We hurt self most when we’re full of pride
Forget self, be more modest as you grow
Don’t seek glory and men’s adulation.
The Gardener sees all and surely does know
How to use us. Trust His perfect estimation.