A Tattered Cabbage Rose

The tattered Cabbage Rose peeled Elegant décor of decades past, the wallpaper offered only a hint of its former beauty Its faded pinks and murky greens belied the glorious blush of its zenith As I stared from the perch of my uneven mattress, I pondered the old Chester Inn I thought about the lives it had touched and I could almost hear the chatter of children readying a day at the beach or the clinking of crystal, a romantic toast Its halls, still dressed in gray sculptured carpet, told their story too, carried along on a musty seaside breeze An early twentieth century relic, the Inn was bidding farewell, no longer able to compete in a modern world Its dated charm lost on new generations As I considered that waning Cabbage Rose, I contemplated the course of life for us all, its cycles, its sequels and as I drew my last sigh of crisp, salty air, I said goodbye to room fourteen