One rose was pressed

Within a murmur
of the breeze
danced and whirled
some withered leaves
cast off petals
carelessly strewn
once treasured dreams
now fallen to ruin

The spring day
lingered on the lake
and I missed the signs
of my mistake
I closed my eyes
embraced the fall
the ache of memories
embraced them all

Yet in my heart
one rose was pressed
I held it fast
and held my breath
I knew that love
would do the rest

A scattered fragrance
lingered on
and in the dark
the nightingale wept
his lovely
lonely song

© Ann Bagnall