Bloomed

Bloomed
 
I dislike
Any
Day
Throwing
Roses
Away,
Even
When
They
Are
Dead,
And
The
Stem
Bends
Below
The
Head,
As
Though
They
Grieve
To
See
Fleeting
Beauty
Leave
And
Renown
Become
Forlorn
And
Brown.
I am
Consoled
When
They
Go,
Knowing
More
Lovely
Roses
Will
Grow.