The rose, it goes.


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1. The rose, it goes.

Stem hunched and frail

Once bundled in a bouquet

In a bike basket it used to sail.

 

Petals faded and brittle

Once a seed longing to be sowed

Providing for this plant since it was little.

 

Accompanied no more

Companions harmonized with soil

Wastes away, decaying to the core.

 

Drying in sunlight

Wishing for another life

Perhaps as a graceful kite.

 

Wrinkles spreading 

Desperate for water

Minutes are shedding.

 

Death creeps

Time rapidly elapses

The rose weeps.

 

Praying God will just pull the lever

Sadly limp

Stuck in this phase for what feels like forever.

 

Wither and perish

The rose, it goes.

 

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