she

she wants to write
but doesnt know what to say
she feel it all inside
but the words wont come
it's like nostalgic, for both the past and future
but content
for the rain has come at long last
and she loves it.

the time runs short
and she is drawn to a close
though on the other side, he has no idea
of what has passed
of what awaits

it's all so very strange
and yet perfectly planned


because on the table sits
one
white
rose.