𝓛𝓸𝓷𝓮𝓵𝔂 ℙ𝕠𝕖𝕞𝕤

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞

In the garden, a rose once vibrant and bright,
Now wilts in neglect, deprived of light.
Petals fall like tears, a sorrowful cascade,
Amidst the beauty of a garden, I am the shade.

The garden blooms around me, a riot of life and hue,
Yet I stand alone, my colors a faded view.
Once part of the splendor, now a tale of the past,
A memory of what was, not what meant to last.

The sun showers its warmth, but not upon my face,
I'm left in the shadows, a single rose out of place.
The joy of the others, a contrast so stark,
Against the backdrop of my petals, now dark.

Yet even as I wilt, there's a beauty in the fall,
A grace in the surrender, a dignity in the call.
For every rose has its season, a time to stand tall,
And a moment to bow out, when twilight does call.

So let the petals scatter, let the winds take them far,
For even in wilting, I'm still a rose, a shining star.
In the garden of life, every rose has its part,
And mine is the story, of a bloom with a heart.