For my withering rose...

 In the final days approaching February...

Where the red roses bloom as the green leaves grow wide to cover the thorny stems...

The red you wear seems to be flushing your glow

As I can't help but notice how tired and withered you look.

If only I could be there and ask of your days...

And feed you the soup from my humble pot of rich heart...

And if only I could speak of your words as the microphone, while you get that well needed rest.

And if only...

I could be up there in the sky to shine a bright yellow sun over your head to make you feel better.

But I know that no matter how harmless my thoughts and feelings are...

All those could and would never be true...

As for every time I try to be that sun of yours...

A grunt always comes hunting for me,

May it be day or night.

I can only pray for you, my withering rose...

Much more of that, only God knows how I feel to let you go,

Only I know the ruptures of being left with no petals, yet slashed with every possible thorn.

I can only pray for you to breathe long enough to see me bloom

Before I shed yet another tear for losing yet another bloom of my shivering garden.

Thus, I can only pray for you to be safe forevermore...

From all harm, all pain, all sorrow, and all that butchers that perfect smiling teary eyes.

Stay safe... you'll always be in my heart,

And I hope I am, too, in yours.

Much love.