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A Withered Rose
A withered rose they all adored
when in youth.
Shaped into a tender pose,
suited with a slender suit.
Time and weather the petals eroded
and chipped the stem.
While the rose settles,
the rose, a corroded gem.
From sweet and small
to wrinkly and pruned
because nature took it's retiring call,
It was groomed after all.
The head starts to droop
a shadow cups it's hands
and takes a scoop.

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Last year my principal Mr. Getz, who is an published author, told me to write a poem. I decided to write about a rose. I want people to know that beautiful things don't last forever. Only through our memories do these beauties remain long after they are gone.