This is NOT a rose. I walked past these flowers on the way home from piano yesterday (ended up chatting with my teacher about SPM results and many other things, and never touched the piano in the end!).
Inspired, I wrote the following poem (sans later edits) while I was giving tuition in the evening:
Silence creeps upon the grass Like a shadow whose light passes Through the soul when the night is cold.
Prickly, thorny, pierce my heart; Stabbed and shattered into prismic shards My body bleeds, my life feeds On death, for decay becomes me.
When the plate is empty And the cup dried up I wither into winter without end.
Drowning in the dew of life Dripping each morn on a man long gone Whom roses do not bloom to greet But fall by petals at the feet Of the observer, who wraithlike Disappears into the silence Of this hollowest of nights.