RED ROSE

Can you guess what I was writing about? Because there are two ways I've seen that this particular poem can be taken.

My love was a red rose

Given by someone dear

And now I’ll tell the story

Of a love no longer here

 

I handled it so gently

I added water everyday

I put it on a pedestal

I loved it just that way

 

Then I saw my rose was changing

The rose began to fade

I tried adding water

But the petals flew away

 

Now a withered stem

Is all I have to show

For a love I once cherished so very long ago…

 

 

I have a new rose now

Its stem is always green

Its petals never fly

Even as the storm is seen

 

I never give it water

No there’s nothing mystic

I’ve found a rose to match my heart

This rose, my friend, is made of plastic.