The bloom has gone from my fragrant rose.
Will it return, no one knows.
The thorns are still there, in my side.
The bleeding continues yet the words now hide.
The trellis climbed, my energy’s spent.
Yet each day I wake in search of a scent.
The ground’s now closer, I taste the dirt.
My feelings strong but now they hurt.
Perhaps a tree I’ll now befriend.
Trees live long, I’ll miss their end.
My pen will rest as I branch out.
I’ll climb again but poetry’s in doubt.