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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