I saw a single rose on a trellis yesterday,

Blood red was she, against a canopy of green.

Forlorn, and yet magical in her solitude,

Misunderstood, unique and alone.

She was a contrast from her company,

Calmly, she held her head up straight,

Expressing her self without shame or pride.

At once natural and comfortable was she,

Not trying too hard to move to a garden of roses,

Or mingling with her company in despair, yet disgust.

Alone, and yet aware of her circumstance –

This was the way of things,

And she would be alone, gracefully.

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