Her velvet petals are stricken like decaying flesh
And that taste of demise is upon her very breathe,
Her tiny pricklets of thorns well they are no more
And she's rotting herself away in a big soupy death.
Her over the top stunning beauty well it doesn't exist
For now it's nothing to even shake your head at,
And wonder how such a tradegy might have came to be
How did so many curious fingers not pick her like that.
Her buds of blossom are dying of thistiness
And her dripping bloody guts they do gush,
Her potential goes right down that tainted soil
That same tainted soil that turns her to a mush.
The honeybees have long been on their merry little ways
And her old aromas once in the air are now invisible,
Her very death is from the hands of precious Father Time
As they cut her to pieces on Mother Nature's operating table.
