"The wilted rose"

The pastor took a rose from the bouque displayed beautifully upon your forever resting place,
I took it home and put it in a vase.

Like my heart it seemed to sulk lower as time went by,
One day I noticed a petal was turning brown and I started to cry.

I took care of that delicate flower as if a part of you lived within it,
With every fallen petal my heart took another hit.

 I watched as time gradually killed that last living piece of you,
I know it was just a flower a mere physical object but when it died it felt like you did too.

It brought back the sinking feeling in my soul when I got the news,
My soul will forever remain broken and bruised.