There it lies,
Stooping on the edge,
Withering alone,
A thing once so red.
Yesterday a symbol of love,
A bloody fiery passionate red,
So full of life,
And now so dead.
It tried its best,
To get into the hands,
Trembling with love,
The loved woman's.
It hoped to be kissed,
To be touched by the lips,
Of the loved one,
Held in her quivering finger tips.
It wanted to spread,
The fragrance of Love,
Incite the feeling,
Of being the beloved.
It longed to die,
In a book or a purse,
Create love immortal,
That's expressed in a verse.
But none of it happened,
And now it lies in a mug,
Stooping on the edge,
Looking at the rug.
Nature's taken over,
The red's turning to black,
Reluctant and hoping,
For life to come back.
Soon it will be black,
Hanging on the edge,
Withered alone,
A thing once so red.