Late last night while fast asleep, visions came
My last love dying on the cold, hard street
Running to her as my heart quickly beat
I quietly whispered the sweetest name

She, slain and dying, not once replied back
Pale and bleeding was she and no one near
To offer help or my plea for help hear
Who, on her, would mount a vicious attack?

Suddenly, scene cuts: me in a white room
Alone and, seemingly, waiting for news
Of her progress and, yet, very confused
Who would attempt to cause her doom?

Oh, wilted flower, so soft and so frail
I long to see color in cheeks, so pale

Cut again to the recovery room
Her small frame seems smaller on the large bed
Stitches trace the cuts, from where she once bled
And a lone red rose at her feet now blooms

She stirs; slowly her eyes open slightly
She sees me and feels my hand on her hand
A gentle smile extends her face and
Her wrist turns to grasp my fingers, lightly

Now note, I, others surround her, as well
My mom and aunt, and who sits at her head?
Can it be my grandma fourteen years dead?
So diff’rent from her former, aging shell

Oh, wilted flower, so soft and so frail
Others love you, too; wish you not to ail

It is Grandma, stroking her golden hair
One moment, magnificent and moving
Grandma grinned at her, as if approving
And raised her as a father would an heir

For the first time in such a long, long time
The flower seemed healed and blossoming, new
As if she had been made red from her blue
I felt peace as a bell began to chime

Waking to realize it was a dream
I felt peace thinking maybe in some way
Grandma might look in on my love today
And, take care of her, as odd as it seems

Oh, wilted flower, so soft and frail
May others care for you, each breath exhaled

((April 22nd,2011))

Danny Speicher

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/wilted-flower-4/