The Rose
Like withered petals of a rose,
I could tell you weren't coming back,
and as a thorn to my chest,
it pierced me to the heart.
I resigned myself to the fact,
and decided to save the rose,
as a bittersweet memory,
but when I placed it in the book,
and gently closed the pages,
all it did was crumble.
Copyright © Ian Kilfoil | Year Posted 2011
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