A Dozen Roses - Poem by A.J. McKinley
The wilted roses sat regally in the vase.
Their beauty never more apparent than their now decay.
The petals fall listlessly onto the carpet.
She never notices the thorns have no points.
Is it pride or vanity that rules the rose?
She whispers it is benign beauty that sins.
Dying slowly with no remorse.
Perfumed fragments tantalize the passers-by.
A dozen roses on the naked mantle.
A tear drops and my roses cry.
Comments about A Dozen Roses by A.J. McKinley
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You