The Last Rose

And she opened an old book he had given her,
and from it rose the scent of a dried red rose!!

It is a beloved's knock at the door — let me hurry
and welcome the one I love.

In his hand is a fresh red rose...
the gift of his love...

And in a little glass of clear water
I placed it.

... Its slender neck leaned toward me
and it began to whisper:

"Keep me inside the book you are
reading now, as the loveliest of memories, for I am
the last rose...

You will hear no knock at the door after today...
and you will receive no red rose but me from his hand"...

And the rose's neck drooped, and it withered, though
it stood in water.

So I obeyed it, with anguish in my heart, and placed it
inside the book I was reading.

And I waited for another rose, and met none.
In vain I strained my ears for a beloved's knock
at the door...

And in vain I awaited his return once more.
The red rose spoke true...
It was indeed the last rose...!

Inas Wazir
Mosul — Iraq