The nightly wind whispers
Stares at me
Cold, I stare at my rose
Green bucket has a new web
Dirt has no rot to eat
Core has no worms to feast
Pick the rose
He says to me
I do not move
I simply watch the wilteds fall
Pick the rose
Why watch it suffer
Another wilted
I never pick
I never tend
Its past half bare
Picking brings me fear
But tending gives me no hope
I often wonder which is better
Why watch it suffer