Rose

I should give up on you.

Would you amount to anything anyway?

withering away

you rot to feed ladybugs and ants 

and earthworms to end.

You grow below your thorns,

so what do they protect?

I’d ask where your brothers and sisters are, 

you’ll just stare.

Even garden gnomes hardly see you move.

You lose your hue,

how many pray on your downfall

yet you simply change from amber to citrine to zircon,

so close to the earth but 

you'll never reach it.

Reds and yellows and whites 

grow tall and pristine.

They disappear in a day,

you’d grow for a year and one month more.