A Rhombus is not necessarily a Square

[butterflydreaming]

This once red rose is like a poem
Months forgotten in a drawer
I know it had meaning,
So I turn it
Over and over in my hands,
The woody stem
Hard & smooth where I broke off the thorns,
Until I recall its message
With surprise.
Like poised words, the brittle petals,
Their vivid color browned,
Bear only a concept of scent and softness;
They fall away from the heart;
Detached, they are weightless.

The things that I can lose
Amaze me.