Red Roses

“Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.”

― Kahlil Gibran

I love red roses; she did reveal once

Though he never got one for her,

She persistently believed; in the mystical power

Of love.

And today, here he was; holding them;

The bunch of red roses, standing composed,

But couldn’t resist his tears, as here she reposed,

Stoically.

Powerless, he wept, with regrets, and watched;

Her taking leave of this world,

In her coffin she lay furled,

In peace.

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