I Pressed a Rose

I pressed a rose taken from the bouquet of lavender, a dozen scented budding and flowering fragrance rising in the warm spring sun. Strange to think that these you did not see when roses were flowers you pressed easily. Once they were yellow, friendship hinted bonds that slipped to floral pink shades with time and in the later years, the crimson red bulged blossoms of love. The service said it all my tears in the silence freely falls as these last years stretched out and your silent acceptance bared your pain. Time and age are indecipherable as we each played our roles and all the dreams and experiences framed us into who we are, were. Baby's breath and lavender roses pale and dry in a last kiss goodbye and farewell while the very bonds of love remain forever tied.