Plague Rose

Seven lonely daffodils
Waiting to die
On this common
Winter morning
There are no butterflies

The roses hold no hope for them
Their lives will come to an end
And as they bend their heads
To the ground
Their forlorn sobs make no sound

So they just stand there
Through mist and rain
Wanting infinitely to end their pain
And the day will come
When there is no rising sun

The day they die
The end of their indefinite lives
And in that moment
That sliver of time
They are happy for once in their lives

So ‘twas seven dead daffodils
Looking to the sky
Forever enraptured
On this common
Winter night