The Rose

By Pritha Doegar

The rejuvenating rays

Transit the window,

Cascading on the delicate rose.

Turning the luscious petals crimson,

While the hourglass whooshes away

In the nigh of morning,

When all seems enchanting;

The hourglass strikes.

Reminding of the dread yet to come,

In a flash! The hourglass became half empty,

The dread now imminent

Closing in from all sides.

The thorns infused now with fear

Draining exuberance from the rose,

Turning it black.

Ah! At last all light vanishes

The petals wilt,

The hourglass breaks

And all that once was,

Ceases to exist.

By Pritha Doegar