I picked the petals off the wilting rose- well… I tried to.
One petal dropped, the rest no more.
The vibrant colours are in too deep,
I think to keep.
With a smell so nostalgic, it sings to me.
I can’t let go,
It’s meant to be.
Her enchanting grace blooms soft kisses to my cheek.
My head falls low,
My eyes too weak.
My fingers caress her elegant touch.
Silk so softly,
Won’t lose the clutch.
Was once an ever-blossoming beauty,
Her wilted petals,
Are her everlasting glow.
Perhaps these wilting petals are there for a reason.
To explain something ever so peculiar to tell.
Yet I ponder to my young damsel soul,
If my wilted petals will ever so glow.
Will I admire my wilting petals as much as I admire the rose’s beauty?
If I will lose my youthful tone,
Won’t it be fair to love my femininity throne?
Through time I will wrinkle.
But nonetheless, I hear her say,
That my dear wilted petals will ever so twinkle.
Her resisting pulls on the petals I want,
Tell me that I,
Can’t force an unwritten fate.
“Live your life.
The petals may fall.
Yet fascinate the time,
Your everlasting all.
No, you won’t disappear.
You, young dear child, listen to me…
I suffer too, little one…slowly withering away- my time has come.
But dear, I will tell you how rich and beautiful I feel deep inside.
It’s time that you see the light you carry within inside.”