I know that I should cut you
But you're all that remains
Of Summer's blooming season
Given way to Fall's wet rains.

In this garden of roses
You're my final chance
Strong bud bursting color
from one last steadfast branch.

The books all say you must go
giving way to Winter's cold;
My heart says it's not ready,
So stay right there and unfold.

One last rose of Summer's warmth
You almost took too long
To wake up to the sunshine
And sing your fragrant song.