Ages have gone
since I last saw you,
stones have weathered and eroded
while vines lie withered and death
along the old, crumbling walls.
I walk in to the old creaking house and see
the old rose in its old dusty vase,
long dead, only a shell
of the rose I gave to you with dewy petals
that smelled of a sweet, fragrant scent.
And when I see you,
your appearance is that of the rose,
withered and dry,
but a radiance shines through,
erasing the earthly body that is your shell,
and you become
a young, fresh rose.
A friend asked me to write a poem with the theme that "nature's beauty is transient, but one's beauty will never fade."