I REMEMBER HER BEAUTY

A rose stands withered, long has dried,
How long before her petals fall?
Most times forget that she is there...
Why do I keep this rose at all?

Perhaps because I see what was,
The look of vibrancy she wore;
Dressed in a gown of deepest red
When first she entered through my door.

She wears no fragrance like before,
As if her lover left her side,
Her petals now, sorely depressed...
As if she were a jilted bride.

Water's not needed, has no thirst,
For now a corpse, this wilted rose,
She waits for me to see she's thus,
But I ignore, for you must see...

Remembrance of what was still glows.