She held the rose
As they walked close
Heading to the station
Their steps slow with reluctance and caution
They stared at each other
Him on the platform, her on the train
He was still left staring
Amongst the crowds, jostling
It was the rose that she held tight
As she was pushed
And her bag was crushed
Holding to the still fresh rose
The sole remainder of his love
She slept in a seated position
And woke with a start at her destination
Her tears left many wondering
Was it for the withered rose?
Or for her lover miles apart?
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