Red rose

Along the back wall of the tall, grey castle the red rose buds.
Its roots take hold and strive for nutrition.

The crisp, sharp air cuts quickly along the ground,
as the sun's bright rays fail to breach the impregnable wall.

Rain falls and cascades around the castle,
water filling in the moat below.

The stiff patch of clay behind the large, stone wall
suffocates and hampers the life of the crimson spud.

High in the sky the vultures fly,
knowing that death is near.

The seasons pass as winter comes,
frigid and unrelenting,

The white ground shimmers with an innocent gleam.
The faint tinge of a green leaflet struggles to breach the surface.

The chirping birds signal that the harshness of old man winter has left.
The melted snow and ice quench a much needed thirst.

A small petal grows and blossoms into a beautiful life, hopeful and optomistic.
At its peak of prestige jealous weeds begin to choke.

Velvet petals turn crisp and black,
as the life gets strangled out.

Unknowing the defense of the rose fights back.
Thorns sharp and fierce prick and fend off the astranged attacker.

Black death falls slowly to the ground.
The breath of air renewed by day carries the blackness away.

Along the dark corner of the stone castle wall,
a single rose struggles to survive.

Waiting patiently for the despiration of a quenching drip,
it continues its nature to flourish.