Adult: First Place

The Roses

A sudden somberness

In June-

Not unlike casting one’s own feet

Among a garden of thorns,

I have seen so many roses

Blindly pluck at their own petals

One by one by one,

Nature’s given beauty

Spilling back to the ground

Like the fate of those forgotten in the frost,

Their stems left standing

Rigid and dry, browned

In the fierce glare of the midday sun

While others counted their days

So few

From the cold grips of a

Centerpiece vase.

But then again, that’s where vanity

Takes you.

It’s so easy to hang onto the bush,

To end with each season and

Simply rely on its return,

But so many roses

Sever themselves in midseason

Over empty hopes for

So much more.

By: Angela Walden