I remember the roses, You lovingly tended. You nurtured them tenderly, until winter was ended.
You pruned them, protected them, From all harm intended. Those prize winning blooms They were highly commended.
Your presence has gone now, Your spirit has departed. Your roses, now long dead, Like you’d never started.
But I’m here and I wonder, I never comprehended Would I have blossomed better? If your care you’d extended.
Did you love me at all? No, I think you pretended.
Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 08/04/2018
This was written in response to a challenge from my friend Peter Dalby. Peter, having read my previous post, Tender Rose of Youth – Short story in 60 words, asked me If I could turn it into a poem. This is my attempt.