Something so beautiful,
once full of life,
now lies there, still and weak.
Its final breaths are long sighs
as it droops down as if saddened by the end.
The petals curl and wrinkle with old age.
Its spirit is almost gone,
but its beauty is not.
I can still see what was once easily visible.
I have not given up on it,
A single tear trickles down,
splashing on the once vibrant, exuberant being.
I do not want it to go, to end.
It is life, friendship, harmony,
yet also death, loss, and reality
that not everything lasts.
Memories dance around in my head
of the past and the new to come.
The inevitable has arrived.
I must say goodbye.
It passes on, leaving behind what once was,
providing us with the new.
Just a small, simple rose.
I no longer see it as sad.
Beauty did not die with it,
twas only masked by death.
