In my hands lies a rose
Dying but still bloody red
I never understood the likes of it
Now here it spins in my hands
with my eye scrutinizing its every petal
It smells good – ‘I like it’
I preferred the fake once
Looking identical and never perishing
Why waste greens on waste?
Made no prior sense
However, now here it spins in my hand
A single red rose
It’s beautiful, worth the fuss…I guess
But only a single rose.
By Daniella Djio