A Pressed Flower

She looked like a pressed flower, well preserved
with a little too much powder on her nose.

She had a sweet face, blue, doe like eyes
and wore a row of pearls at her throat.

In her heart I saw a ghost of love,
but I knew she didn't want the world to see.

She wore white gloves and a summer hat,
like ladies from the past, you've seen in photographs.

She walked a little slow and breathed a heavy sigh
leaning on a nobly stick as she passed me by.

There was a gust of wind and leaves flew all about
and as they did her petals fell so gently to the ground.

There she slipped away, like flotsam on a shore,
a once so vibrant rose, whose buds would bloom, no more.

poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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