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:: Welting Roses by Katie Hoyme ::

The pretty flowers that you picked
Once so beautiful and bright
Now lie limp in their vase
Wilted and dead
To look at a rose, has once to be said
To cure all hopelessness and pain
Wiping it away from the face of the holder
All the while thinking of the giver

Not given as a motion of guilt
Not thought of as a product of pain
Not thought to die off
Not thought to lie in memory

Like flowers in December
So familiar, yet rare
I have to constantly touch
To believe
Only to find
That youre
Not
and never were
Really there

 
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