Dear rose, You sit, In your dark and dirty water. It exists, Just barely in the jar. Mold floats, In that repulsive filthy bile. Your leaves, Wet slimy peeling. That stem, A grim shade of green. Your petals, Perhaps once red Now black But somehow you’re not dead. Decay surrounds, But thereYou Sit Waiting for redemption rejuvenation A helping hand or two  To pluck you out of this concoction  Of muck and goo. In the midst of your  Decaying situation  Somehow you cope Somehow you hope For that long expected day Despite the desperate  Need to leave You are fine  Waiting for your time To leave the grim And shine.