One Single Rose

One single rose
Lies in the arable bed
Watching the litany
On the corner of Baker and Moorhead

Her zealous color
Of innocuous white
With replete pedals
Scintillating in the light

Interminable glances
To the surrounding air
Looking for a camaraderie
In anyone who’s near

Waiting for her beauty
To be noticed at last
Poor rose
Did not know the ubiquitous presence
Of nature’s wonder;
The flower’s sonnet

Keeping her equanimity
She gazes into the pedestrians’ eyes
No one knew
Of the frangible heart
She hid deeply inside

Waiting for a moratorium
In the walking feet
An interminable jungle
Of constant noise
Gazing at the passerbys
Dreaming with a sigh

Two days later
I found the rose
The vibrant pedals faded
The flower, somehow, desiccated

The fervent fire gone
The presence of a lugubrious bulb
Was all that could be found

If she could have communicated
It would have been obvious to me
She would have said her life was truncated
Because no one could see