Her gentleness trembles beneath my finger
As she responds with a rigid resistance to
My caressing touch.
Though she is dying, she
Is yet still elegant. Although
Void of understanding, she silently listens to me.
As I clip off what was her last good leaf, her once
Blossoming bud gracefully falls to the floor
In a final attempt to die.
She was just a simple rose, but she was good to me.
Until her downfall before hence when she had
That she had truly felt for me unconditionally.
Her smell being a strong reminder of a love gone-
Tamuriel L. Dillard