Triumph

It's milky white, shimmering weak
oscillating gently with the breeze
glistening against the landscape bleak-
arid, barren, devoid of trees

It appears haunting, rather eerie
yet much more gentle than it may seem
Though its expression is rather dreary,
it is dejected, with low esteem

Though it constantly sways with the gusts
that plague its vague and sorry form
it has to linger, it really must,
so it remains and withstands the storm

And slowly, although it takes quite a while
it becomes more solid, embellished by hues,
despite the fact it hasn't advanced a mile
it had gone further, it has grew

It reached the stage when shades so pale
had darkened- solidified, every thread        
Its stature turned from delicate to hale
dim pink turned to a vivid red

From timorous to proud, its head held high
beginning to work with unconcealed zeal,
its aims accomplished, reaching towards the sky
as a nebulous dream ultimately became real