Me the Rose

If you passed a rose a long your way, would you stop to acknowledge its being? Would you press it up against your nose to smell the sweetness that it holds? Would touch its beauty? Or would you pick it to make it your own? Take it home to show it off, knowing that it will only die? You want to love its beauty, so set it in your favorite vase You fill it with water hoping that she will live a little longer. You set it upon your desk to admirer her at first glance. Days pass and she has lost her beauty Her paddles have fallen to the floor Nothing is left to hold so dear, so we toss her away without a tear. Would you be so cruel to me? Not see any more beauty upon my soul! My body is old and most die a lone What a world I live in