by Carla Nicole Ward
Old red roses, dry and dead.
Wilted petals fall instead.
He once gave to me to keep,
Those days they lag like lonely sleep.
And now they sit as time has passed;
Alone, without love at last.
With shadows of our old love cry,
And wilted roses that will not die.
A phone with no one there to call,
I try to forget, but don't at all.
I once left your name to find.
I called it sweet, good, and kind.
But when I found it, it was gone.
You took it back and then moved along.
And so I set here, cold and blue,
with nothing more for me to do.
But sit with nothing left to say,
Soon to throw the roses all away.