A wilted rose.
It's color fading away.
Fighting for it's life.
Fighting to stay.
Watching people pass on by,
Not giving it a glance.
Wishing and hoping,
Someone will give it a chance.
A chance to prove itself,
A chance to be true.
But who would want a wilted rose.
Not many, not even a few.
Watching life go by,
In a shop's window.
No one wants it.
Not even the widow.
The shop keeper comes,
And takes it away.
Knowing very much,
It's not going to stay.
In the garbage she goes,
Beginning to decay.