631. Prattle Of A Newborn To Its Mother 170212 Poem by Raman Savithiri

Will a rose shrub become mere bush of thorns?
Won't it sprout buds escaping animals of horns?
Won't snow breeze fan to unfurl petals of rose?

In the barren hot concrete yard should it end
As a pot plant drooping in sizzling sun?
Won't it get a foot of earth to root and stand?

Some flying creatures cut its leaves for their nest
Some crawling caterpillars eat its leaves to their best
Some sticky insects spoil the buds drinking its essence

The burning air of summer simmers the whole plant
Yet it genuinely tries to bloom to please gardener's heart
I am the doomed rose plant and You are my keeper Devi!