The depth of his love was, oh, so intense.
To have what he loved he spared no expense;
Yet feeling its softness he had not the need,
Lest the sharp thorns would cause him to bleed.
None other like it would he ever find;
The flaming blue rose was one of a kind.
His valued possession he placed on a shelf;
None were to touch it, not even himself.
Though bit by bit its brilliance did fade,
He didn't take notice, no changes he made.
He supplied it no moisture, shed on it no light -
Believed it would live in spite of his slight.
Reality soon proved to shatter his trust;
One day in its place he found only dust.
There was no undoing the tears that he cried,
For it was his neglect that caused it to die.


© Brandyn Sand