A dead rose for a dead friend.
I came across with a dead rose.
How impure and crooked it seemed.
Deteriorated without the life it once had.
I kept walking with it, holding it with my right hand.
How sad it was to see a rose like that.
Where once it was bright red,
now it’s only a brown looking thing with nothing left.
I kept walking with the dead rose,
a sad rose with no thorns.
Until the path ended in a familiar place,
a place where I once knew.
I left it where it had a life once.
I gently put it down in that cold place,
of happiness and bitter ends.
Only memories with no nostalgic meanings.
A place were a dead rose was given to a dead friend.