The Loss of a Rose
I watched a rose grow
Far down the last row
Guarded it as it grew
From the strong winds that brew
As its branches did sprout
Its thorns spread out
piercing my hand when tending
I left to tender to my sore wounds
When its flowers did blossom
It left its sepal's bosom
Conspicuous and beautiful to the eye
Its scent burning the noses of insects
So the bees,wasps and birds paid a visit
On its sweet nectar they made a feast
Some dusting its petals with dirty dust
collected from other plants that ailed
And the dust became a worm
that attacked from deep within
making it wither as days went by
and the rose dried to death
Copyright © Justine Mokua | Year Posted 2013
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