Extended Metaphor

Poetry is like a field of flowers
Commanding awe and respect
Yet full of inner beauty.

Seeds, like letters are scattered
Upon the page where
They take root and begin to grow

As time passes,
They get bigger and gradually develop
Soon comes the time for their nascent.

Hark! Here comes spring!
Instantly, a multitude of flowers bloom
Into beauty and splendor!
-Just like a moving poem.-

Bernice Ponce De Leon