The Rose

October 22, 2007
By Franny Teesdale, Rockford, MI

I lay on the ground.

The smell of roses fills my lungs.

I turn on my side.

I pick the one rose who is away from them all.

I smell the lonely rose.

It smells so sweet.

The many thorns prick me.

My finger tips bleed.

The pain is so fierce I drop the rose.

I fall to the ground.

My body feels strange.

My body starts to prickle.

I bleed from head to foot.

I start to change.

I can not see.

Where have I gone?

I am not the same.

Now I can see.

I dread the thought to look down.

I hold my breath and look.

My body is different.

I am no longer human.

I’m one with the many roses.

And the lonely rose is back in the ground.

Lonely again.

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