The Last Rose by Dale Hensarling
Shall I cast the flower from this bridge
See the petals glide below, delicate as the snow,
Southern winds carry my thoughts away
Faded as the grass, withered as chaff,
Were we not to be?
But the thorn that pricked was hidden for awhile
We danced and smiled, lay gentle and wild,
Upon linen sheets, exploring
Closed to the world, ignoring,
River take it all away, the memories
Of broken promises and possibilities
Wash this past, free me at last,
Falling like feathers to your watery grave,
A last flight, flower wings, that I might save
From love’s hate.