Disclaimer: Aha! I do own this! *dances around in little circles*
A rose, petals so fine,
Soon wilts under the pressures of unforgiving time.
Beauty fading fast, all it can do is wait,
'Til nothing remains but thorns; hating this cruel twist of fate.
At the peak of it's beauty it becomes to late.
Should one stop to think on the irony of it all...
Only when we rise do we begin to fall.
February 28, 2002