The Vessel

The petals of the rose, with stamens cradled in,
Protected in the center, where life began within.
It softly cups its hands, around the center rose.
Protected from the wind, that sometimes coldly blows.

And with each passing day, the rose does open wide.
The stamens standing tall, that were hiding deep inside.
The petals growing weak , before they start to leave,
Some fall to the wayside, As all the others grieve.

While each, softly falls, their life is almost done.
They've held their heads up high, to brightly shining sun.
And now they look for shade, and darkness of the night,
Quietly they leave, Soon they'll be out of site.

Slowly stamens die, they say their last good-byes,
How lone and bare my vase, I sadly dry my eyes.
The stem now stands alone, His duty he's fulfilled,
I solemnly take the vase, out the water's spilled.

My vase now stands alone, looking barren and sad,
Waiting for fresh flowers, with many petals clad.
How empty vessel is, where heart has died this day.
And life no longer dwells, where soul has gone away.

Floria
© 2002