She perished slowly
         due to the lack of love
Like a rose on its fifth day
  in a vase.

She wilted
Like the rose
Denied nurture, denied love.

Then one day
He crushed the wilted rose
And disposed it along with trash.

That day she sighed in her
bed for one last time.
The rose being dead.

People die.
But their stories live on in the hearts of those
who had loved them.
Like the fire which has burned out.
But the ashes still remaining.

The memories wiped out
after years pass by,
Like the ashes swept
Away by the wind.

Yet the trees, the sky, the sun,
They all remain witness
to the life that was once lived
to the laughter and tears it shed.

Immortal therefore to nature,
Is the fickle human soul,
It lives on forever,
Witnessed by the sun, moon and stars-though ages may roll.