The third voice
Was so soft and gentle.
Surrounded by beautiful
Fragrant flowers
You stand amidst a meadow
Waiting for your prince.
Flowers who bloom daily
Flowers who live for a day.
You pity the flowers
For their short lives.
You stroke them with
Your fingers and bid
Good bye.
After a while
Your Prince arrives.
You run to him and
Gasp as you smile.
It's been years since
You've met his eyes.
The eyes that once
Yearned to lock yours.
He calls you beautiful,
Strokes your cheek
With his stiffened fingers.
You are my only rose- he says
Handing you a bouquet.
The breeze blew- and
The meadow laughed
At this single rose.
My vases have held
Plastic flowers all their lives.
