Every morning when she awoke
From her nightly repose,
There upon her doorstep lay
A single, crimson rose--

A rose as fresh and as fragrant as any
She'd ever smelled or seen.
She put it in a vase each day,
Wondering, "What could this mean?

Is it a secret admirer? Or could it
Be a secret gawker?"
Then a thought occurred to her:
"I hope it's not a stalker!"

She tried waiting up all night;
Her vigilance was in vain.
Every morning a new rose appeared
Despite wind or rain.

She figured that a surveillance camera
Would clarify everything surely.
"But maybe it's better left unsolved,"
She said to herself demurely.

So on and on the mystery of the roses
Continued year after year.
She was curious as to how long her secret
Admirer could persevere.

One day her neighbors noticed a pile
Of roses at her door.
Something wasn't right, for that
Had never happened before.

They entered her home and what they found
Caused them all to start:
Their lifeless neighbor lay on her bed
With a red rose over her heart.

- by Bob B