Rose, ravishingly rich, red rose
upon stiffened lively stem
beckons up toward the heavens.
Luscious, intoxicating, invigorating,
scent gently rising, riding
through calming, cooling breeze.
A transformation abruptly transpires-
without warning speeds the wind
ruthlessly rushing toward the rose.
Rose, gracefully falling—
time stands still and silence surrounding
petals which just had begun to awaken.
Crushed and trampled, still and forgotten
colors bleeding into matted green,
richness of red melting away.
Stale, rotting, torn and twisted petals—
putrid, moldy aroma — spreading
like a disease spoiling clean, clear air.
The rose dies.
Amanda LaPera © 2011