Black Rose 3

It’s mind-boggling to see,
How people change with time,
How life is such a strange humdrum affair,
How the clocks never stop,
How love dies slowly.
The rose turned black and withered off,
But the plant didn’t lose hope,
It grew another rose and then another,
Each withering after a while.
Hardly did it know it was not her fault,
She wasn’t a bad mother at all,
But the gardener had hardly paid attention to it,
And had watered the prettier shrubs,
Leaving the rose plant to its misery.
But the plant never tired,
Hoped that one day,
The gardener would see the black rose,
Be embarrassed and start nurturing it again,
Enliven the plant, give it a rebirth,
So that the roses would be red forever.
For the new ones may be close to mind,
But the old ones will forever be close to heart.


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