Oh, little rose, 

today you appear so evidently sorrowful.

 The lack of life and your petals that droop low

make me feel lonely at the sight. 

You are present for decoration and that only. 

Once you begin to appear ugly, you are discarded. 

Don’t be sad, little rose, as for I was once sad, too. 

My troubled eyes searched for someone to hold, and my cries needed a shoulder. 

You try to escape, but you are cursed with weights on your shoulders that pull you down down down to the ground. 

Your petals wilt once the winter’s freezing tragedies infect your stem. 

Don’t be sad, little rose.

 I, too, tried to hide. 

Enduring the shadows seemed to be the only positive solution. 

The loneliness held me and I held it.

 You sing a song and hope hope hope it is heard,

 “Please let me go, 

I am nothing similar to a bird but I want to fly,

I try, I try, I want to die.” 

You begin to feel sure that your life is blurred. 

Your petals have fallen. 

Your stem has weakened. 

Your misery has deepened. 

You melt into the ground as night bleeds into day. You won't be remembered, but I will be aware of the legacy you left behind. 

You may be six feet under as I am left alone with the sound of thunder, but remember that you don't need to be sad, little rose.

Because I will know of the struggles you battled.

 When the world was unaware that you met any form of consciousness, I watched you grow until a tall posture fell into a slouched tiredness. 

They will forget that you ever dealt with life that hurt you inside and out, but I won't. So don’t be sad, little rose.