Red Rose

On the shelf
the red rose lies,
reminding me of the past
of the good old times.
The rose, it rots,
the petals wilt slowly;
hoping to erase the past
to make me feel less lonely.
The days go by
and I patiently wait
for the petals to die.
They know it's their fate.
My feelings, they linger,
they have no home.
I must sit here and wait,
bow my head and cry alone.

 

Copyright ©2008  Gretchen Ann Decker

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