The Dying Rose
 
Speak not of the day whispered this dying rose. Tell me no more for now my time has drawn to a close.

I can sadly see now my color as it has begun to fade and I can taste the winters chill in the approach of my coming day.

My time is short as a winter’s sun and my very heart has begun to wilt.
Yet worry not of this my love and please feel not the pangs of guilt.

For I have seen the immeasurable beauty of my birth in the morning spring.
And I have blossomed in exuberant glory in the warmth that summer brings.

I have tasted the sweetness of nectar as it mingled with the falling rain.

And I have seen all that there is to see of this temporal world which is filled with wonder, mystery; beauty and sometimes shame.

So know now this of me, this, a single and dying rose........

Know that I came to you for a season, but soon it will be my time to go.

Therefore weep not as my petals curl and turn unto a dusty brown,

Weep not my love, for it was by you that this once weed, turned rose was even found.

J. Allen Wilson © ELEVEN 2006

Updated page with my art