its sweet fragrance imprinted
on olfactory nerve
bloom pressed in a book
essence is thus preserved

its delicate hues
painted in one's thoughts,
petals counted in loves me,
loves me nots

its hips used to make a tea
florets turned into potpourri

if it seems too brown or dry
give it another try

don't do anything rash
don't throw it in the trash

keep smiling and do not weep
put it on the compost heap

doesn't have to be its final ovation
you may get a (re-in)carnation