The Rose

The blood red rose that once was so perfect

Her petals pleading to be touch so tender

Fragrant with a heavenly bouquet

This blood red rose reminiscent of life

Was found in this quiet repose pressed between the pages

Of the book of poetry written

Twas no better place for internment

Than rest within loving arms of favoured

The graceful sonnets whose lines capture the beauty

The true essence of the blood red rose in verse

Just the bearer of this rose has all the years

Thus dried and crumpled, lifeless remains of our true love

Thus I cannot bring back to life this blood red rose

Thus nor this love that once was true

But for some reasoning beyond my control

I thus feel the need to try

Failures are sometimes given as second chances

Thus gently closing the book containing my faded rose

The only tangible symbol of our love

Thus I put it upon the shelf where all our hopes and dreams are

To wait patiently once more for another place and time