Lost Love Is Like a Plucked Rose

Beneath a far moon love's fragile rose dies The stem with its thorns has crumbled by fate The truth of demise assists hopeless cries To fear the dark has come to suffocate This beautiful flower akin to fire Turned a weathered old stem, brittle and brown Robbed of its scents of unabashed desire Never again to wear the royal gown Love's blood drips constantly from long ago To fall ever slowly upon grave's ground And lay as shadows in the far moon's glow The red from these petals will not be found As love is like a rose when plucked will die And will wilt away as memories cry 8/4/18 contest Not just any old rose