Butter Rose

A metaphorical poem, about a dying rose

She hears the roses cries
Blood streak on a painted wing
lifting it up into the sky
I wish that it was mine
Graceful, beautiful in it's flying
She hears the roses cries
It leaves the world behind
higher drifting, slower fluttering
lifting it up into the sky
It has no time to say good-bye
It's end is close, her song she sings
She hears the roses cries
It's call gets no reply
The streak of blood, the pain it brings
lifting it up into the sky
Slowly the rose dies
Crashing down slowly falling
She hears the roses cries
Lifting it up into the sky