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NANCY MERCADO

The Rose That Waits

Like my past

It lies inside a trunk

Inside an empty box

Of chocolates I tasted decades ago

It lies quietly bent and shapeless

Lost its color and life

In darkness it waits

For fresh air perhaps

For the touch of my hand

The feel of my lips

My past waits for me

To admire its beauty

To relive its history

To explore its withered remains

The dead rose of my life lies

Inside my bygone love affairs

In silence it waits to join with me