Disfigured Rose Poem by Raj Dronamraju

It was the last left of the season
Most of its petals gone
Stooped from the rain and the coming of the cold
Lost its luster under the relentless pressure of living

The female lion without a mane
It's the peahen and not the peacock that does all the work
The male courts the less attractive female with disdain
A genetic predisposition to beauty undermined by the elements
The death that is not immediate but which all recognize

Disfigured rose
Maimed and totally beaten down by the sun
Found even the moon too overbearing
That was not given to a lover but given back to the earth
Recycling an unused sensuality