She lays the pale-pink rose

inside the fountain remembering

how it was a living thing, rooted,

just a day or so ago, but the blush

lingers, the scent remains,

the petals are still silken to the touch,

but only for a day or two more,

with no roots, no veins inside the soil,

it will fade as do all planted things

when they have no connection

to this earth.  For a moment

she is sad, but then she smiles 

as she considers the loveliness 

of its parting gift of beauty.

—C.L. Fisher, February 2021

Unless otherwise indicated, all content, including writing and images, are the work of C.L. Fisher and may not be copied, used, or distributed without permission.

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