Crimson Rose

Beauty In Death

The blood red petals of a rose    

Fall on hard, cold ice.

Scattering as if trying to find the warmth of a flame.

Never being able to,

They wither and die.

Before their time had expired,

They waste away

As an early frost comes to claim them.

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Jayne's picture

I really like this poem is beautiful yet sad, it really does say like you wrote it, The Beauty In Death. Great work.