Poem of the Week

Wilted

Beautiful, untainted rose,
Mocking me with your purity
Snow-white petals fall like drops of blood,
As I pluck you from your pearch.

Sharp pain, in a thorn-pricked fingertip,
And you slowly drop to the ground.

Beautiful, blood-stained rose,
Mocking me with your elegence.
Red-smeared petals are crushed,
Beneath uncaring feet.

Beautiful, wilted rose,
Mocking me with your age.
Dry petals crumble,
Between tear-damp fingers.

~Ramona Cook (c)