He entered my room with a warm smile

And a bright yellow rose held in his calloused hands.

The flower soon took its place

In a glass vase tied with a little bow --

Where it shone in my heart like a floral sun,

Gracing my soul with shining rays

Of light.

But time is a merciless executioner

Day after day, my rose lost its light

Its petals drooped,

Its sweet fragrance turned

To the sickly stink of rot,

Of death.

I could not bring myself to bury the poor,

Pale corpse.

Rather, I let it stand in wake

In the glass vase

Its bright rays turned

To poisonous daggers of darkness

Piercing my heart

With death.

I stared at the fragile yellow shroud

(How did the verdant leaves still maintain their vibrancy?)

As I touched his hand,

Wished him goodbye

Drinking in one last glance of his brown eyes

Rich soil,

With my blank countenance,

Pale as a corpse.

I turned to leave,

And saw the rose,

Drooping in its sorrowful death

Amidst my heart --

As I,

Walked to my own burial

Clutching the wilt in my still heart.