A Fairy Dress

Five tender petals, born in the spring,
Belonging to a rose in the colour pink.
It smells like the morning, of dewdrops and mist;
by night it will close into a fist.
I picked the rose on a warm, bright day
‘Pluck’ it went and I took it away
Because I had planned to make it a dress
For a fairy to wear, nothing more, nothing less.
Days went past and I had a small fear
That my fairy friend would never appear
So in a box it went and I put it aside
For years and years till its petals went dry
Its pastel colour is now a dark plum
If I am not gentle it will turn into crumbs
Why do I keep it? Why is it special to me?
Because I am saving it for that fairy friend to see.