The Tale of Roses

On one crisp dawn, near big pine tree.
On three green stems buds popped out three.

Held on to the stems adorn with the leaves
Protected by the thorns cruelly edged one believes.

The time flew fast, passed by whole week
These buds nurtured, looked nice and sleek

Opened up slightly, let the colours disclose.
Yellow vivid red and the pure white rose.
They bloomed and swayed on to wind in a pride.
At the first sunray quietly crept inside.

Imitated one another for the sake of regime.
Their love intimacy had reached to an extreme.

Absorbed sunshine enjoyed monsoon.
They stayed in group but one hot noon.
White rose and plugged off from the root.
Leaving yellow on the branch isolated from the loot.

These roses sorrowful leaving native land behind.
Placed on a stall with the flowers same kind.

The white was sent to the year of dead.
Combined with companions on top nicely spread.

As the crowd exceed pushed in and bashed.
The rose dropped down under feet it smashed.

The red rose kept at the spot in a vase.
Purchased by a youth and with love and grace.

Handed out to beloved as a longed promised gift.
Bestowed safely in a book, but ouch had a rift.

The yellow rose remained individual under sky.
When the wind blew rough it caused it to wry.

As the rose desiccated dried out and spoiled.
Scattered those petals met the ground and soiled.

The red rose lingered in the book for long.
When the book was read by the one it belongs.

In between the pages, the rose was found.
The memories recalled and left her astound.

Abide in thoughts she held on tight.
To the rose in her hand her heart in delight.

Gathered all the ruins and smushed into.
A pot transparent like her heart fairly true.