Perhaps, to him
I’m as precious as a rose
Even as my lusciousness fades
He looks beyond my flaws.
Perhaps, he hasn’t noticed
That soon, my petals would be asunder
And even that won’t deter him
Because probably, he sees the good in me.
Perhaps, when those buds appear,
He will think he was right.
That good things come to those who wait
As my weaknesses are overcome by new life sprung.
Perhaps, when this rose reaches culmination,
Maybe he would see this as temporary joy
His rose, dead.
Or maybe, he will look beyond my drooping head,
Shriveled, but beauteous.