Lost Love Is Like a Plucked Rose
Beneath a far moon love's fragile rose dies
The stem with its thorns has crumbled by fate
The truth of demise assists hopeless cries
To fear the dark has come to suffocate
This beautiful flower akin to fire
Turned a weathered old stem, brittle and brown
Robbed of its scents of unabashed desire
Never again to wear the royal gown
Love's blood drips constantly from long ago
To fall ever slowly upon grave's ground
And lay as shadows in the far moon's glow
The red from these petals will not be found
As love is like a rose when plucked will die
And will wilt away as memories cry
8/4/18
contest Not just any old rose
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