Five months ago
I gave you a rose
pale in pink, rich in pretty
you touched my face, thanked me kindly
stood the Rose proud beside your bed
to watch the dreams pour from your head
  
But pretty does fade...
color does drain...
and five months later
the Rose stands the same place
  
You loved it fully while
it was alive
You loved it like you did not know
it was soon to die
And when it did-- you did not
bat an eye
only loved what was left like it had
never died.