Left Without a Rose

I sat upon some driftwood that huddled in the bend no thoughts as to why the rain had to descend Removing my eyes from the endless drops nature had closed up, as everything stops. I drifted on thinking nature is all from earthly creatures to trees so tall from the tender warm rays of the sun To where spider webs are spun. if all were to end and the stage curtains were drawn I’d be waiting on this log probably till dawn The theatre of life would be without shows Hard to say being left without a rose.