The roses died so long ago,
I forgot the small of their perfume.
Their radiant glow no longer show,
within these realms of blackened roses.
A thorny bed for their petaled little heads,
each one with a headstone of their own.
time keeps them prim and proper.
Yet if you come a little closer you’ll see for yourself,
these pretty little posers are nothing but pansies.
Made of cloth, silk, and thread
these flowers made no bed
for how can they,