I took a bright red rose
from my garden today.
To place inside my darkened room,
in hopes to chase my tears away.
I chose with care the reddest one,
for its sweetness filled the air.
It would bring me happiness
for the moment, that it lingered there.
I trimmed its thorns with loving hands,
then placed it to my cheek.
I kissed its velvet petals, soft dew upon my lips.
It was regal in its beauty, majestic at its peak.
I placed it in a vase so clear,
on the table by my chair.
I whispered sadly to myself, "what have I done?"
and turned and left it there.
This taste upon my lips I knew so well,
was not of dew, but tears that it had shed.
Could it be it loved another,
still out there in my flower bed?