Withered Rose

Withered rose upon the sill,
Can’t bear to see you go.
Until
Your gentle wilt and soft decay
Mean I must throw you away.

Shrivelled petals,
softened thorns.
A former bloom become forlorn.
Still, affection touches me
Each time my eyes, by chance,
they see The simple cup and dirty pool,
Frayed stem that can’t support its jewel,
And deep red overcome by mould, Which may, itself, soon grow too old.

Plastic window,
twisted wrap Around the gift placed in my lap.

The gift reduced; the love has not.
This rose will never, ever rot.