Gather me the petels
Of an old and withered rose
For beneath it's empty stem
A single root still grows
This root cries out, "Revive it!"
And the colors still run sweet
The scent of all those long passed times
A single skipped heartbeat
This rose should be so beautiful
For the elements were there
The sun to warm it though the day
The rain, the sky did share
But somewhere in those perfect times
It drank of rancid rain
It withered to an ugly stem
And cried in horrid pain
Now I ask you this one thing
For the answer must be there
Can I gather up the petels
Despite the faults I bare?
Chris Townsend
1999
