A red rose leaning
Tiredly against the glass
Of the dirty old vase
Nearly empty of water
Some formerly red petals
Lying abandoned and forlorn
On the table near the vase
A symbol of a slowly inexorably
Wilting dying love
A love once full of promise
Straining to reach the sun
Filling the heart with providence
For an inconceivably bright
And happily fulfilled future
Like the dying rose
That love has lost its brilliance
A mere shadow of its former self
All shriveled up devoid of sap
It exists but only as a barely
Unrecognizable broken copy
Of its shining former self