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Death of a Rose
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I'm flabberbegibbited. Wowza.
Found this when I googled my s/n.
"Death of a Rose by Dorothy Marie Koveal"
As I stroll down the damp, gray walk,
my nose towards the ground,
I turn my face to the sky and smile.
Trees now barren and naked in view;
zephyrs caressing the brown crumbling grass.
I continue on past the black iron gates-
Careful not to wake the sentry-
into the convolutions of my memory.
I approach a lake- nothing more to the eye-
but to the heart a damned sight.
A sight no longer virgin to the tragedy-
the death of a Rose.
Red petals spilled across the water,
floating, spread by the undulations.
The stem now limp and sinking-
Color shifting leaves drift down behind,
sepals plead the sky for a savior.
Such a stain in the memory-
And forbidden by the weary sentry-
the death of a Rose.
Turning my back on this horror,
exiting, escaping the black iron gates,
Continuing my stroll, now a hurried gait.
Crystal jewels glistening past my face;
I view through blurred vision
Rose bushes entwined in other black gates-
In them they thrive and grow-
as I stroll down the bright, dry walk.
I turn my face to the sky and smile,
see the trees are clothed, the grass now soft-
I would have never before noticed-
the death of a Rose.
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