Rose Death

Why is the rose so beautiful? In life and death. It glistens, frosted by the morning tears that gently fall away, to die? Or do they help start life down deep in the roots of thought. Will the petals fall or be stolen by a breath as rich in life, as in death? Lays down like a lover. Soft and slow or, like a caged demon Ripping it self from life, in that wind that howls from nights ferral jaws. Death holds beauty more elegant then to be told in life. Seems alive, until it is wilting. Falsely playing with thine eye. Oh, beauty thrives only to fade. On the precious petals of a rose in bloom. Ever masking its tremulous thorns, reddened by its own blood. Why is the rose so beautiful?