She's weary and her day's are all lows.
Friends become foes.
She can no longer see her toes.
Over the years her body has built plumpness, not merely close to obese.

Hu-rah Hu-rah! They yell.
The weary lady is dead.
No one in the town knew her.
But all of them gathered around, what used to be a perfect black box. Now its molded and the colors have changed. layer by layer.
Strip by Strip.

Used to be petite and slender. Vivacious and adored.
Not they just scorn.
She is now torn.
What Caused this?
Why is this?
Why the questions...she is now gone.

Tears, tears.
Why fear? Did they fear her because of jealousy?
Or was she to much of a burden to the town?
Who knows, we shall never know.
What really happened to Ol' Rose.

The house the was pure white, is now smelly and old.
You can no longer tell its true color.

She was weary and days were just lows.
No friends, just foes.
Ol' Rose why did you have to go.
They celebrate your death.
But they never knew you.
Your black box has been stripped.
Your home no longer exists.
Old Rose, poor Ol' Rose.
Rest peacefully.

Hu-rah, Hu-rah! !
let the soldiers celebrate.
Tears, tears will fade away.
But you will always be remembered.

Sapphire moore

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ol-roses-death/