A wilting rose lays on the windowsill
As I watch
Her perfumed essence
Seeps from discolored petals
And I know she has had no visitors

The room is dark and dry
And wreaks of isolation
What good is a shattered vase
If you have no face to save or see for miles

When last did you see her smile
How long ago
Was she plucked from the ground
And abandoned to die

On the windowsill