Rose not Iris By: A. Grace C.

I stand alone in the dirt ground.

My friends dead as a door nail.

I'm the last one, the very last one.

You pull them out one by one;

They are useless to you now.

And I?

I am the last piece of hope that stands for your garden.

Damn you are good.

Watering me and treating me like I am a royal purple iris.

Maybe I should wither away too.

Because I am not an iris, no.

I am but a simple rose, I just stand alone.

I am red like your lips not purple;

Your favorite color.

I am a rose, not an iris;

Your favorite flower.

You can call me what you want.

Yet I will still be me.

So let me die and wither away.

Because that is the way it is meant to be.