Me the Rose
If you passed a rose a long your way, would you stop to acknowledge its being?
Would you press it up against your nose to smell the sweetness that it holds?
Would touch its beauty?
Or would you pick it to make it your own?
Take it home to show it off, knowing that it will only die?
You want to love its beauty, so set it in your favorite vase
You fill it with water hoping that she will live a little longer.
You set it upon your desk to admirer her at first glance.
Days pass and she has lost her beauty
Her paddles have fallen to the floor
Nothing is left to hold so dear, so we toss her away without a tear.
Would you be so cruel to me?
Not see any more beauty upon my soul!
My body is old and most die a lone
What a world I live in
Copyright © Reynolda Garay | Year Posted 2009
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