Green Is a Color as Well

Everyday, you come at dawn
You come bearing a watering can and perhaps clippers
And everyday I pray, wishing they were for me
Praying to be plucked as those around me, with jealousy through my stems
Maybe one day it will be me, but for now,
I shall continue to watch the creatures around me
Pick the roses over me

Perhaps my spiky leaves are not enough
As you prefer thorns
Perhaps my sharp aroma is not enough
As the dogs prefer sweet
Perhaps my fresh taste is not enough
As the bees prefer nectar
Perhaps my hue is not enough,
As the world prefers vividness
Perhaps there is no place for a mint plant in a garden full of roses

The days will go on, the seasons will change
Yet I am still the same old, green mint plant
Hoping for a change in me

A few thorns maybe?
A simple flower bud?
A hint of yellow hue?

Praying for change seemed like an eon
Even the old sycamore tree gained colors by fall
Yet I am still the same old, green mint plant

Eventually the day came
You walked up to my soil, clippers in hand
And you snipped off the two leaves closest to the burning sun,
Which happened to shine a little brighter that day

My leaves may have only been a garnish,
Uneaten and unacknowledged, lying on the rim of a cocktail
Yet that day, my existence was given a definition
Perhaps being a shrub of green in a garden of roses wasn’t so bad after all