• A Rose Not in Name

    A rose blooms
    And then it withers away

    So short of a life
    So much potential

    It was never kissed
    Nor was it admired
    Yet it was greatly missed

    Would it be a beautiful rose?
    Would it drink in rain and shine?
    Would the color be as red as it was before?
    Would each petal catch the morning dew
    Before it was plucked?

    The world would never know

    Now shriveled as a dark husk
    It can only appreciate tears and thorns
    As it sits there on a poisoned bush

    A toxin created by man
    Stifles the water, land and air
    Laying waste in the deep valleys
    And stripping the mighty mountains
    Grants the only company
    For the miserable shrub