Roses of red, pink, white
Twelve at first,
Then eight
Then five
A family, siblings
That go at different times
And petals drop
Or curl and dry
Leaves, no longer green
Crisp and fall away
Now, the last few remain
Stems blacken toward the top
A touch of age hanging on to beauty
Sending out their scent
In heavy vapors reaching
Red deepens to blood
And pink, the shade of sleep
White opens her petals wide
And drops them like abandoned dreams

©April 16, 2025
Diane E. Dockum