They stopped making paper roses
When it became clear
That the lady on the corner
No longer stands there.
Nobody was aware
Or seemed to mind
She was always “just there”
Each and every time
They happened to pass
Or cast a glance
Always assuming
They’d have a chance
To pick one from
The bouquet she carried
Or the wagon she pulled
There was no need to hurry.
Until the day
They needed one
But when they arrived
The lady was gone
Only a posting
Was left behind
To her own garden she went
For real flowers this time
She traded cold concrete
And disposable love
Those Roses made of paper
Were just a representation of
What could only be found
In gardens well tended
Though nobody noticed
Until her corner days ended.
RaenellDawn
