The bloom of youth in the rain washed rose is a joy for eyes to see
yet what lies underneath this glow is invisible to you and me.
Blind are we for a fresh budding rose is already fading, dying
time is cruel the blossom will wilt, the light will wither away,
one day bursting with life, then naught but a thorny stalk.
And in the wake of perfumed petals drifting on the heavy air
all that remains and is unseen is their decaying essence.
©2019 Linda Lee Lyberg
Author’s Note: This photo is one of mine.
Linda Lee Lyberg is a wife, mother, artist, published poet and author. She resides in Mesa, AZ with her husband Pete (aka The Big Viking) of 23 years, and her dog, Ricky Bobby. Linda writes various forms of poetry, as well as short stories. You can read more of her works at: charmedchaos.com
and on her Amazon Author Page