The rose is cold
Withered and dead
Never again to see the light
Never again to feel the wind
She will never feel the dew drops on her deeply shaded leaves
Nor feel the touch of a bee landing on her brilliant petals
Never again to hear the bubbling brook
Or witness the hatching of a sweet duckling
She longs to taste the morning’s sweet air
And smell the delicate perfume of the daisies dancing with the tulips
Never feel the sun beat down upon her
To never be picked for that special loved one
Never see the birds dancing from tree to tree
She stands firm on her stem, till she can’t anymore
She falls and lets the wind carry her away.