A Rose...

A rose that comes early
Dies and forever will leave.
Remembrance is soon gone
With each new dawn.
It hardly reaches beauty peak
When is it crushed the first week.
Soon it dissolves into the earth.
And the first will remain astray.
Until next spring; it gives new birth
To remember the one passed away.

A rose that blooms late
Will always last another day.
Remain beautiful and fresh
Colorful beyond all the rest.
Bloom fully and shine
Grinning back every time
And not be forgotten
With a camera’s flash
It’ll be noticed again
And forever it will last.