One, two, three and four.
The petals are soft, but they still hit the floor.
Plucked from the bloom, the rose lays bare
in the hands of the jaded without a care.
A bodice draped in elegant lace
defines the figure of Victorian grace.
Staring out the window, vision’s a blur
from tear filled eyes longing for a cure.
Strong is the will waiting to survive,
creating the happiness to make one feel alive.
Suddenly, a love that’s been removed
now comes into view,
a view that’s been long over due.
The faint smell of a cigar quickly fills the
room with no smoke in sight.
Accompanied by a warm, curious feeling,
nothing of fright.
The ghostly vision comes clear
as he approaches her near.
To him she says sadly, “I’ve aged a bit.”
He sweetly replies, “Not in my eyes. I still see you as exquisite.”
Then he caresses her cheek softly and full of love. He adds,
“I still see you as my beautiful dove.”
A smile sweeps across her wrinkled face,
so elegant and full of grace.
She whispers, “I love you, my dear for all eternity.”
He nods, “I know, my sweet for our love shall forever be.”
(A poem by Sheila Renee Parker)