The Last Flower

How green is my valley !
thought a proud gardener,
looking at his marvelous creation,
beaming all the way.

He sits among them,
nourishing with his own hands,
in heat, rain and storms,
shaping them into his dreams.

Desperate times came,
took away all the little ones,
and then the strong ones too,
except a tiny one with a red rose.

It was beautiful.
It was the hope.
It kept him alive.
It made him happy.

And then it was gone too.
The last hope of happiness.
The last Flower.