I once caught sight of a lustrous rose, glowing with radiance like that of a gem.
It burned with the red of the lifeblood we know, infusing its sweetness in the air.
I beheld the sight, and took it into my senses; such beauty was seldom found, and rare.
Knowing such beauty could only last for so long, I resisted and snapped not its stem.
The flowering bloom was surrounded by many a kin, yet it set itself apart from them.
It outshined them all by a devastating degree, easily and without a care.
I feared strongly so, for I knew that time would be quick to set up a snare.
Death would come slowly, if it was not swift – for all, it would come for them.

I came back a time later only to find that the precious bloom did fall.
Its withered petals burned with the reddish-brown of my lifeblood, as did I.
And still, this blossom remains immortalised in my heart, which felt its call.
I hold the image of this beautiful rose in my mind, and I still do sigh.
I shed many a tear, for I know its will to live gave the gift of life its all.
Bittersweet is this sharpened sorrow; the grace it fell with left a mark so fine.