Crimson Time

Crimson red petals on a slender green stem,
Constructed from a small, organic gem.
Beneath the stem, under the dry ground,
Appear roots that are quite very compound.

The hot beating sun shines down every day,
On the ruby red rose that grows in the clay.
The plant tries to reach the falling grey rain,
As it fails to climb out of its own pool of pain.

The bright crimson red is just a plain shell,
For the dark emotion that inside seems to dwell.
Cruelness and neglection are what this plant fears,
For it is hoping that the end is very near.

The rose turns to black as it wilts in despair,
For time has neglected it from all of its air.
Petal after petal they seem to drop,
Finally this life has appeared to stop.

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OK. Some people think this will go in nature poems. If you got the metaphor, you will think it belongs here. If you don't understand, feel free to PM me.

I always return votes and comments. =)