One does not leave a rose mid sandy beach:
Perchance, a seagull dropped it here somehow?
As much as I might like, I cannot reach
or bend to such poor logic will I bow.
Oh, No! This dying rose is out of place!
It needs some dainty green and shady lawn.
The sun has wrinkled up its little face.
You’ve left it frying here but still I yawn.
My modern ways want none of your goodbye.
My love, you’d best leave words to show your heart
You’ve better chance to make my sadness fly
than wilted rose of red regret to part.
So, hear me well as I shake off this sand:
Please leave a better note or better plan!