Sometimes the description to a poem is more difficult to write than the actual poem. This poem was written after the death of an intense, passionate, romantic affair. The kind that you read about in books. Of course, like fiction, they cannot be sustained. Real life intrudes. And all we are left with are memories...a silk scarf and a red rose.
A silken scarf
draped across the bed
A fragrant rose
of scarlet red.
Memories of times
that passed away,
words unspoken,
nothing left to say.
We watch as others
smile with love
and wonder what they
are thinking of.
Love has faded
like the rose so red
the scarf lies hidden
beneath the bed.
Time has passed,
we can no longer be
lovers, together,
you and me.
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