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.
Poetic Meanderings 