Rose

I bought a rose and it began to wilt.
One by one the petals gone till laying on the table a single stem.
When I tried to piece together what damage had been done
I heard a knock upon my door
A women appeared, frail and withered
She said to me these fine words
"Don't let something beautiful wilt in your presence,
For its a mistake. They ones with such beauty always die
And one of their lives you had to take"
She left with the rose and her words got me to think
Can such a rose left to die,
Come back to be pieced together?