She is rare as a blue rose

Blooming with exquisite features 



The thorn represents her bad times 

Grabbing on you can feel the slight sting

The sting of sympathetic guilt that she once survived



The number of petals she holds

Containing some lighter and some darker

The darker represents her fears and flaws to dislikes

While the lighter represents her joy and

Passion to her love 

Looking at the petals you can see their close to being even

Except for that odd black one



Growing old petals do start to slip away from the heart 



There goes her love for rain

And her hate for spiders

As to her hate for darkness 

To her love of singing 



To be looking at this beautiful rose

You shall see

By shaking it the petals drop faster



Dropping her love to dance

And her hate of scary movies

To the love of spring

And the hate of waiting 



To finally you have this one petal



Noticing how its not like the others

From starting to be a blue rose

To ending as the black 



Having the last petal fall

It comes to conclude 

She’s safe now



She may now rest

In peace