I dreamt the rose withered
which came as no surprise;
the bird predicted it
the book before him
and anyone could see it coming
in the current kind of temperature.

But still I was saddened
which came as no surprise;
I had loved the rose
though it had always been weathered
and worked upon in my time
I recognized its beauty
even among its flaws.

In my dream
I saw no rose
simply heard of its passing
for who ever heard of a funeral for a flower?
But we ought to bury the things we love.
What we treasure in life
should see some sense of completio