And I was strolling in the garden.
Everything looked at peace,
Except for a winter’s plant.
Though it should have bloomed long ago,
And should’ve filled my heart with joy,
It never did.
I knelt down towards it
And whistled a soft sad tune,
Hoping that it would revive it.
But it remained rooted
With all leaves and an unveiled bud.
I sighed and looked up at the night sky.
The moon seemed strangely bright that day
And I joined my hands and made a wish-
‘Rather than presents for this Christmas,
Can you please bloom this bud,
Once and for all?’
I left with the silvery light
Pouring all over the garden and the unraveled.
The next day was Christmas.
I hurried to the garden
Hoping that what I’d wished for
Wouldn’t have happened,
Because there’s never such a thing as moon magic.
And that was before I saw the plant.
And then I believed in it.
For in place of the bud,
A violet flower had bloomed.
And my heart missed a beat as I saw it.
Then I looked up at the dawned sky
Where the moon had made my wish the other night.