My Rose

I was given

A single crimson rose

Once

I loved it,

Took care of it,

Cut the stem because it was too long.

I kept the stem too

And soon,

The rose withered.

The stem looked the same,

Yet I continued to keep it,

And after a long time,

It grew a thin stalk.

I was overjoyed,

And let the stem grow.

I decided to let the stem

Be where it was born

And planted it

In my backyard.

The stem grew thorns,

And one pricked me

When I was planting it.

I didn’t remove the thorns

Unlike that single rose was

Before I first received it,

Stripped bare

Of leaves

And thorns,

Not allowed

To grow as it wished.

I watched it grow,

Sprouting more stalks

Growing leaves

And thorns.

Until one night,

The harsh wind came,

And the next day,

My rose was dead.

Just like the other one.