The last flower

A garden of roses in the meadow
each Rose with a different shape
petals gloomed in viscous shapes
fragrance spread in fancy difference
but still they are all rose roses.
Between them grew the variances
red, blue, black, white and mystic shades

The bold brave red with spirit of a bird
nowhere but everywhere, black_
with the fragrance of all things good
blue with the attitude of a shy squirrel and the white with a cat like naughty style

Red was plucked by the gentle warm wind
blue is still a bud that hides among leaves
white is growing spreading the charm
the wild cat still got the speed of wind
her cold nature keeps any warmth away
the black is the one special among them

So special the storm never hurt her charm
her colour a symbol for everything special
the pride of power and humble of simples
the weight of prestige and the light of_
hope, mixed up on to the disguising black.
Beauty of night with the mystic stars
art of balance in to the heart of universe.

But now the day have came for her
a special day indeed for her
a charming deed with a social call
plucking flower when it is blooming sweet
the beauty of a flower, on her plant
take it out, it will loose it's charm
all the flowers should bloom on plants
pluck them out and lost is charm
all the days of nourishing wasted
even when a proper necklace is made
she still loose get bountiful charms
only when the last black rose is lost
a gardener will know the value of rare