A weathered rose petal gently crumbles to the ground
The rose questions why
her quench of thirst was never found

The wind viciously blows
each fragmented piece away
He collapses with such exhaustion
as he takes his last breath for the day

The sunset comforts her
bright colors in the western sky
And yet as the rose parts with each fragile piece
She still stands to question why

The sun next greets the rose
with his warm and tender rays
He treats her with such enlightenment
So that this next day she now can face

Debra A Lackey