Peering into the distance,
Doing nothing but withering away.
It is horrid at first glance,
It decays day by day.

Blackened peddles once luminated red,
Head looking down as if in shame.
How long until it is dead?
And who is to blame?

Shriveled leaves no longer want to stay,
It's beauty seemed to vanish.
What does a dying rose do all day?
Does it want just one last wish?

A chance to make someone smile,
Or be a lovely decoration.
Maybe it wants to stay a while,
Maybe cause a fornication.

Or does it think about all it has done?
The lives it has touched in ways.
How its mere presence caused fun.
Or how it was nurtured for many days.

What does a dying rose do?
What if I am a dying rose too...