Forgotten Rose

by Dr. Agonson

Oh forgotten rose,
I forgive thee not.
Thou pricks me and draws deep.

Of flowing crimson
on thy petal there
is truth of my despair.

Yesterday we would not weep
when I set thee by that stone.
And yet flow would have its day.

So flow, my blood
if not my tears,
to drench in gentle rain.

Upon red rose
run crimson streams
which stream unto the stone.

‘Here lies’ it reads
in etching true.
Never will I forget you.

And so with one small prick
doth stream come quick,
drops of red and salt.