They were so perfect and bright
when I got them that night.
                      Their beauty amazed me;
                       they were such a sight.
He placed them in my hand
and we smelled them together.
                        "Like these roses," he said, "we will last forever."
As time went on,
they roses began to fade.
                         Their beautiful red, pink and white
                         became a lonely grey.
Their rich, full form slowly began
to dwindle.
                           Their large, open petals
                           soon began to shrivel.
They dried up slowly
and one by one they fell,
                            leaving their beauty just a story to tell.
But what about us?
What will we leave behind?

                             Stories about roses that have
                                     dried up and died?