A rose has died.
I didn't know this rose.
It wasn't mine.
I have no reason to think it was my rose but
I did think it was mine for an instant
a very long time ago.
This rose had become old and sick.
Diseases took over the leaves,
travelled down stems
and killed the roots.
No-one told me the rose that was not mine had died.
Now I know,
and, unexpectedly, I grieve.
