The Rose
I see the water drip from its petals,
in the dirty,brown dirt,
the water settles.
The sun hasn't been out for days,
to spread its light,
or shine its rays,
against the soft texture,
it starts to decay.
The leaves turn down,
against the ground,
the rose,
is no longer a rose,
its brown.
Copyright © Ashley Riepe | Year Posted 2006
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