Darkened Hope

A lone rose,

Blackened from lack of sun,

Stands on its own in a garden.

The thorns on its stem are spiked and long,

As if saying it can protect itself;

But nothing can survive completely alone.

The rose yearns, it wants, it longs

For the warmth of the sun,

For the comfort it shuns,

And grows blacker and blacker in its own decay.

The rose caught my eye yesterday as I passed through the garden.

The rest of the world just flew on by,

But I stooped, putting it to my nose

And I think it whispered a word of hope.