Watching the flowers, day-in day-out, they each are as 'individual' as mankind.

One swayed in the garden, the color of the sun
said, “Glory hallelujah!” I’m the only one!
The second squealed, “Move over . . . I need room to bloom!
My thorns feel prickly; another bud is due soon.”
The third rose, the smallest, grew to be the tallest
A fourth basked in sunshine, fragile but the smartest
Four roses and sweet daises make a nice bouquet!

Five, a shelter for the bees, lounged beneath the trees;
six was so fragrant people fell to their knees!
Swiftly but somberly popped up number seven
Yellow blossoms on green--the yard looked like heaven!
The eighth stretched her petals, needed room to grow
Nearly wilted one morning when doused with fine snow!
Eight yellow roses stand alone as they sway.

A bud of mixed hue was bud number nine
As intoxicatingly rare as a fine glass of wine
Number ten had to hurry before winter came
It blossomed beneath thunder, drenched with heavy rain
Number eleven, sweet and worldly, was a little wild
The twelve roses were harvested and wrapped by a child
They stand in a vase that sends “I love you’s” away!