A Silent Whisper #11

The Drawn Rose Lit moonlight, falling to a sheet— As stained, rigid, imperfect. Step through the stage, land to her feet. To wear a dress, flawed yet perfect. A smile, bright and longing, was meant. She moves with grace, yet lone—silent. Her final act, she fell and cried. She closed her eyes, a fade of smile. Though this was last, and final sighed, Dance of silence, she left awhile. The moonlight fades, the dawn then blows. Her foot left the stage, faint, a rose.