Unrequited Roses Poem by Barry Middleton

The rose is overdone in verse
for every lover claims its worth.
The red one in my neighbor's yard
now stirs forgotten memories.

The rose is often overworked.
I do recall a boy who daily
offered roses to bring a smile
to a winsome girl he did desire.

Nor seldom I conferred a rose,
a small investment in wistful hope.
The rose was adoration's pledge
affirming tenderness in passion.

One more poem on the rose,
perhaps a waste of precious time.
The red rose at the neighbor's gate
recalls a time I believed in love.

That rose is pain, its petals blood.
It speaks to me of lovers lost,
no smiling eyes, no hopeful sigh
from unrequited roses of memory.