Author's Note
If you don't like stories in the form of poems, you'll hate this so much. But you know, like the wise men of old used to say; deal with the gifts we brought you, little baby Jesus.
The Garden of Rose
T'was another bright morning in Equestria,
And in the quaint little town of Ponyville,
Everypony awoke to greet Celestia's sun,
Perfect as always, and ever still.
The town was soon alive with sound,
Everypony felt alive this day,
The vendors set up their market stalls,
As around them little foals joined to play.
One pony was selling apples from a cart,
Stacked full, and to the brim,
Her red-bowed assistant stalked a stallion,
Trying to sell apples to him.
Another pony offered confectionery wares,
Which consisted of toffees and sugary delights,
A pale-green unicorn tried to steal one,
A smack on her hooves gave her a fright.
A cross-eyed pegasus delivering letters,
Knocked over another mail-box (again!),
As she munched her muffin with contented glee,
Savoring the delicious taste within.
Yes, indeed, t'was a perfect day,
As beautiful as those days before,
For three best friends to help other ponies
Find their cutie marks and more.
T'was a great day for a certain DJ,
Who rarely took her purple shades off,
To spin some awesome sick dub-beats,
Until the tiles of her roof shook off.
Her dubstep tunes would aggravate,
Her cello-playing marefriend,
Whose musical tastes were for the classic arts,
Such works like Mozart or Beethoven.
T'was, true, today was a beautiful day,
As from the heavens the sun did glow,
Bearing down it's warming rays of light,
Upon the world far down below.
And the light of day shone through the window,
Into the bedroom of one certain mare,
Her coat a pale yellow, her eyes chartreuse green,
and raspberry-colored streaked was her hair.
She opened her eyes, awakened from her slumber,
The warmth of sunlight upon her face,
And with a yawn, Roseluck greeted the new day,
From her bed did she slip with grace.
She showered herself, and brushed her mane,
until her natural beauty became clear,
As so graceful and twice as lovely,
True as the rose that adorned her rear.
Downstairs she trotted, to the kitchen,
Where she prepared her morning fill,
A plate of greens, with a side of rice,
and topped off with a pinch of salt.
Her hunger sated, she smiled contently,
And to her daily chore, she did make haste,
But not before the dishes were cleaned,
And put properly back in their place.
Opening her door, Roseluck stepped outside,
Her hooves meeting the gravel path,
Which ran through her colourful garden,
And ended at a little bird bath.
Roseluck's garden was neither small nor large,
But it's size was just right, to her liking,
And filled was it with every color of the rainbow,
And ever much so did it appear inviting.
Roseluck's garden was a sight to behold,
So splendid in its magnificence,
Passing ponies couldn't resist a peek,
Seduced by her garden's sweet fragrance.
Her bounty of flowers, like sons and daughters,
As bright and alive as any young foal,
They were her children, and she their mother,
To care, and to love, and to hold.
For Roseluck was their beautiful Lady,
She gave them life, and she would guard them,
She was a mare who helped them grow beautiful,
And she was the life of the garden.
Her flowers were always there for her,
They helped to chase away her fears,
And they would listen as she spoke her mind,
To stories filled with joys and tears.
Her flowers, they gave her company,
So Roseluck was never truly alone,
Though she often thought of one day having,
A special somepony to share her home.
But her garden, for now, would be her family,
Her precious flowers, a part of her life,
Who could cheer her up when she felt sad,
Who could make her forgot her strife.
There were honeysuckles and bluebells,
There were monkshoods and there were clovers,
And there was geranium, jade vines, and lavender,
With poppies and marigolds all over.
From the blazing radiance of her sunflowers,
The seducing purple shades of her foxgloves,
To the cheerful purity of her innocent daisies,
Each perfect flower had been raised with love.
Roseluck picked up a simple watering can,
And inside she returned, to her kitchen sink,
Where she filled her container with clean water,
Returning outside, she gave her children drink.
Her precious ones lapped up the cool liquid,
As it showered over their petals and stems,
They shook in delight, and with giggling glee,
As Roseluck happily tended to them.
For Roseluck was their beautiful Lady,
She was their Mother, she was their guardian,
She was their carer who loved and fed them,
And she was the life of her garden.
Each day, Roseluck would gather her tools,
And set about tending to her plants,
And with love she would make the tiniest sapling,
Mature and blossom into colorful giants.
She'd treat the soil, to keep it rich,
She'd keep her allotments clean and free,
So that her precious children of nature,
Could grow up gracefully.
And so connected to them, Roseluck was,
That if ever should one flower die,
It would deeply sadden the rose-marked pony,
And for her precious one, she'd weep and cry.
But her garden was part of the life-cycle,
Where all things lived and died,
And Roseluck knew that her precious flowers,
Would not have wished for her to cry.
For when one flower wilts away,
Another will take its place,
And live on to remind dear Roseluck,
Of its past predecessor's grace.
And Roseluck smiled as the warm sun rays,
So gently caressed her lovely face,
She sighed contently, happy in the moment,
Being here in her garden, her special place.
Her garden reflected her vision of heaven,
A wonderful place of natural beauty,
With flowers of seven rainbow colors,
Spread around and far for all to see.
For Roseluck was the Lady of her Garden,
The Flower Mother, and their guardian,
For she loved them, and they loved her too,
For she was the life of her garden.
