The Pretty Flower, Rose

 One upon a time there was a pretty red rose that stood tall in the garden for everyone to see.

“You’re so pretty and magnificent, Rose,” the passers-by would say, “But why do you cry?”

“Because my father doesn’t see me,’ she replied. “He doesn’t tell me how pretty I am.”

And so, as sad as she was, the pretty Rose grew taller,

Tall enough for the whole city to see

And everyday, the whole city stopped what they were doing and stared at the pretty, Rose

“You’re so pretty and magnificent, Rose” the whole city would say. “But why do you cry?”

“Because my father doesn’t see me,” she replied. “he doesn’t tell me how pretty i am.”

And so, as sad as she was, the pretty Rose grew taller,

Tall enough for the whole country to see

And everyday, all of Brazil stopped what they were doing and stared at the pretty,  Rose.

“You’re so pretty and magnificent, Rose,” the whole country saud. “But why do you cry?”

“Because my father doesn’t see me,” she replied. “He doesn’t tell me how pretty i am.”

And so, as sad as she was, the pretty Rose grew taller,

Tall enough for the whole world to see

Little though, did the pretty flower, Rose know that

Way down below, with his hands broken and bleeding and digging into the dirt

The gardener worked tirelessly, day and night, turning the soil, unpicking every weed

So that she could grow tall enough for the world to see how pretty she was.

C. Sean McGee  - Oct 2026