Scant Rose

Like an extension of your
hairless arm, you held
it out to me.
A small delicate rose bud,
that seemed too insignificant.
A reflection of your
shrunken heart.
Months have past, the petals are
shut tight, too brittle to move.
And I know that no matter
how much sugar-water
I have to offer, the bud
will never open up and
offer its beautiful stamen.

—Edith Sargon

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