A Dead Rose
It was not a happy rose,
for it never got to pose.
It died too soon,
It was as beautiful as the moon.
Why did it have to die
It's like a bird that could not fly,
With it's broken wing,
It died in spring.
With its beautiful features
I would treat it as a creature.
I don't know what I'd done
If all roses were gone.
Copyright © Christina Faragalla | Year Posted 2005
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