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The handsome young man bought me a rose,
So rosy red like seeping blood.
The rose showed nothing but beauty.
A beaming light of angels flying.
The smell of sweet perfume lingering in the air.
The petals are soft and silky as feathers on the wings of a dove.
The fairly new rose brings new life into its self.
When the rose starts blossoming,
It becomes as beautiful as the sight of an amazing goddess.
The stem so green like healthy grass on ever lawn.
A stem with thorns which makes it the utmost unique of any flower.
As the days goes in the rose physically grows old with age.
The petals wither and tear.
The rose now a blackish red.
The slightest touch and it would shatter,
Crumbling into pieces.
The rose now as dead as the grave itself.
No longer beautiful as it once was.
Yet again today,
Another rose appeared at my door,
Just to die off once again.
 WishfulDreams89 · Sat Jan 06, 2007 @ 10:40pm · 5 Comments |
