On a barren stand sat an empty vase
It’s color, dull from the dust
It has sat alone for quite some time
The lonesome, worn-out bust

Some time ago it held a rose
Crimson, with thorns on its stem
A symbol of love and life it was
A deep love for her from him

The vase itself was a sight to see
It’s priceless veneer of glimmering art
Handcrafted and painted with delicacy
With love from the craftsman’s heart.

Time and experience has cracked the vase
A small but prominent flaw
The periods of stress formed the blemish
Yet the vase still brings looks of awe

The rose has left a vacant space
In the vase it no longer dwells
The dark red flower was taken away
To take root and grow someplace else

This vase may look old now, empty and bare
With no ornament of love to see
All it needs is a kindly polish
And a rose that will stay and not leave