Remnant from a Golden Age
by Frank Watson
The dew had shattered,
Her leaves had fled the green
When nighttime scattered
The petals from her dreams.

She was in a ’50s film,
All black and white;
It lost its cinematic feel
In a blur of chromatic light.

The rose was not red,
It showed a simple gray;
Six lives since dead—
And who remains to prey? 

All writings and translations are Copyright © by Frank Watson, also writing as "Blue Flute" (2011-2014).
Year: 
2012