A single rose
Untouched
Lain on a pedestal for none to see or worship
Hidden from the world
Not yet dead
Even after millions of years of use
Uncovered by dust
The same of which covers all else
A single petal, drifted loose from its mooring
Laying alone, still
Separate
Yet still a part of the whole
Blackened by age
But not aged at all
Flawed
But perfect
