We are Sharing an Essay on Autobiography of a Rose Flower in English for students and children. In this article, we have tried our best to provide a Short Essay on Autobiography of a Rose Flower for Classes 6,7,8,9,10,11,12 in 100, 200, 300, 500 words.
Essay on Autobiography of a Rose Flower in English For Students & Children
Autobiography of a Rose in 500 words
Flowers are the beauty of nature. A sad heart blooms at the sight of flowers. The sweet fragrance of flowers clears the gloom of one’s mind and cheers the sorrow-stricken heart. I am the king of flowers.
I was born on the delicate stem of a rose bush. I was planted by a lover of roses. He would have no flowers but roses in his garden. He planted the rose bush, tended it with care, and watched its growth with eagerness. By and by the plant grew. It sent a shoot straight from its roots. On this shoot, I started taking birth.
In the beginning, I was imperceptible. The master of the garden would come every morning to look at his plants. Every new leaf would bring colour to his face and he would look at it with great affection. He seemed to grow with the growth of his garden, Then one day he saw me! No words can express his joy. He was indeed a lover of roses. The rose colour for him was the colour of life. His wife sometimes felt jealous of this passion of his.
Once he knew I was there he kept a careful watch over me I grew every moment. In about a week’s time, I bloomed forth. That morning my master sat by my side for a long time. The longer he looked at me the more he seemed to like me. He felt the texture of my petals. He looked gratified at the velvety softness of my petals.
Before leaving for work he again came to me. I knew he liked me most. I was the first rose of the season. I knew he would come again in the evening and feel happy. But alas! I was happy in my ignorance. I did not know that roses do not bloom for ages. I was yet not experienced and had not got a taste of human jealousy! Soon I had too much of it.
The wife of my master came. She looked at me, liked me, and plucked me. I could not protest but my mother stem did. I stung her with a thorn. But it was only a prick and she got what she wanted. She sat before her dressing table, tucked me in her hair. I added much to her beauty. But even this was not to last. I wore it with the day. By the evening I had lost my freshness and drooped. I became darkish and dead, though not quite dead. When my master came he was furious. There was a terrible quarrel between the husband and the wife. The wife in her anger took me off her hair. She tore me into shreds and stamped her feet on me.
I am gasping for breath but I know there is no breath for me. Happier the beginning sadder the end.
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