The Rose |
| by Shawna Fernley |
A single red rose,
Alone in a field.
All by itself.
Nothing to shield.
The sun is shining,
In the summer sky.
The heat is killing.
The world is dry.
Winds from the east.
Dark clouds hover above.
People have lost,
The romance in love.
One couple together,
The last of their breeds.
The man picks the rose.
It's what she needs.
Two hours later,
The world heard a roar.
A car out of place,
Hit her passenger door.
He tries to revive her,
A battle with fate.
No change in condition,
It seems he's too late
He looks down beside her.
In her hand is the rose.
The rain starts to pound,
And the wind fiercely blows.
As they lowered her down,
The very next day,
They asked for his speech,
There was nothing he'd say.
A single red rose,
alone on a hill.
The sun's in the sky.
The heat's sure to kill.
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(c) 1999 Shawna Fernley Please respect the rights of the author and Passions in Poetry. If you would like to use this poem on your own web page, please contact the Author. Thank you.
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