Like a Rose
I once kept a rose
Pinned to a suit jacket
For almost six months.
By the time I had remembered it,
It was black,
Wilted,
Dried up.
Dead.
I fancied I could put it
In an art museum
With the title "Forgotten Love,"
Still pinned to that jacket.
Of course, I threw it away
Nearly four months later,
And that rose, all wilted,
Was no more.
I sometimes think back to that rose
When memory and time permits.
Like when I saw a sunset
Being reflected in the clouds
And the snow on the mountain.
The softest hues of pink and red
Mixed with the velvet coat of the clouds
Reminded me of a rose,
And like a rose,
It wilted away.
The sun took its colors,
And the rose in the sky
Faded to deep purple and black.
Dead.
That small moment of beauty,
That brief rose in the sky,
Had turned to memory,
Lost to the night.
I sometimes wonder if I am like a rose,
Plucked from my bush,
Slowly fading, slowly wilting,
Until I too,
Like a rose,
Turn to black.
Dead.
Will I too be tossed
And become but a memory,
Lost to the night?
Pinned to a suit jacket
For almost six months.
By the time I had remembered it,
It was black,
Wilted,
Dried up.
Dead.
I fancied I could put it
In an art museum
With the title "Forgotten Love,"
Still pinned to that jacket.
Of course, I threw it away
Nearly four months later,
And that rose, all wilted,
Was no more.
I sometimes think back to that rose
When memory and time permits.
Like when I saw a sunset
Being reflected in the clouds
And the snow on the mountain.
The softest hues of pink and red
Mixed with the velvet coat of the clouds
Reminded me of a rose,
And like a rose,
It wilted away.
The sun took its colors,
And the rose in the sky
Faded to deep purple and black.
Dead.
That small moment of beauty,
That brief rose in the sky,
Had turned to memory,
Lost to the night.
I sometimes wonder if I am like a rose,
Plucked from my bush,
Slowly fading, slowly wilting,
Until I too,
Like a rose,
Turn to black.
Dead.
Will I too be tossed
And become but a memory,
Lost to the night?