It’s soft
It’s still
It’s beautiful
With its wilt there comes pain,
nothing ever will be the same.

Its perfume kills,
Signs of wear and tear,
life comes down with each petal
that decay’s.

A rose left to rot,
The sun will change what I wrought,
my rose’s I did bring
yet still my grave seems
lonely and bored.

Oh Lord lay me down,
Where my bed of rose’s
perfumed my gown.

The cold chilled my bones,
It’s soft
It’s still
It’s beautiful
With its rot there comes a day
when heaven will open wide
ready for my arrival.

My rose’s I bring
a token for death and a kiss
with my last breath.

Rose’s soft, still, and beautiful
broke my heart and pricked my lover
with its thorny branches,
as I was left to rot.

© By Amanda D Shelton


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