The wilted roses sat regally in the vase. <br />Their beauty never more apparent than their now decay. <br />The petals fall listlessly onto the carpet. <br />She never notices the thorns have no points. <br />Is it pride or vanity that rules the rose? <br />She whispers it is benign beauty that sins. <br />Dying slowly with no remorse. <br />Perfumed fragments tantalize the passers-by. <br />A dozen roses on the naked mantle. <br />A tear drops and my roses cry.<br /><br />A.J. McKinley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-dozen-roses/
