Black Rose Poem by Georgina Ashton

A forest full of red, a pattern
to my eye. To see such a beautiful sight.

Until, from nowhere an unusual
glimpse from the corner of my eye.
A single black rose, stands in the shadows
of the forest trees.

Not a bunch or a field of black,
just a single black rose stands. Queer, strange,
a rare sighting.
My urges to pick it from its roots. I have no
control as it’s so mesmerising,
I pick the blackened stem, making sure none
of the delicate petals fall.

I place it in a vase on top of my mantel piece,
three months go by and there it remains, still
looking as it was when I first picked it.
Magic, some sort of fake flower that never dies?

Soon it starts to crinkle and crumble, like roses
tend to do. But all at once the petals start to fall,
as if it were a windy day.
To see that rare rose on the top of my mantel piece
dieing, deceased, pronounced dead.

It was an incredible feeling to know,
that I am probably the only person
in existence to have owned a...

Beautiful Black Rose