To dream a chain to the Victorian Era
leave the shadows casting of isolation
where held hands held significance
and 'I love you' was not said in summation.

A rose bud grew in an arid desert
each perfect proper piece of petal
gave of its own sense of charm
and stood statically special.

I watched the rose bud picked
off the ground in asperity
while I hesitated to be heard
and I watched it crumble terribly.

I sat in desolation, in my own oasis,
I wedded the rose in my hand,
dreamt of a victorian era rose
and saw distance between two lands.

I will forever hold the rose in memory
As a reminder of the scent of last June
coerced to feel a faint of love in heart
by nothing more than conversations at noon.