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.
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