The Rose

The rose is still
laid on my desk
which is dry, lifeless.
Symbol of melancholy, endless.

It was lively,
gift of love.
The fragrance was seductive
and the colour was very attractive.

Every petal was carefully adorned.
They were protected
by two leaves.
Still, I can find it in my envisages.

Now the rose is waiting
to throw into garbage.
My love is past
and the rose is perished.
I know they can't be revived.