Dying rose in the diamond vase,
Wilting petals that even now hold beauty,
This rose close to death has so much glory,
And thorns still sharp as knives.
Oh rose, if only you could speak,
Then what sorrows would you describe,
The loss of your lover on the vine,
The loss of you love, soon the loss of your life.
Oh rose, if you only had a voice,
Then what terrors would you speak of,
Would you describe cold, lonely nights,
Nights of death and broken hearts,
Of being trapped and with no freedom.
Oh dearest rose, I’ve done you wrong,
Your beauty remains but your life is almost gone,
Sunny days are black again,
Dying rose, you were my friend.
(Copyright (©) 2007. All rights reserved)
© Copyright 2016 Amity Willows. All rights reserved.