Folds

Always mourn when rose petals fall
down from the outside in.
And always mourn when beauty becomes
a desperate, dried out thing

like you, with all your sweetness,
all your goodness, all your nice
How I wished that I could keep you
locked up in my heart of ice

But O’, I should have known
even perfect things grow old
and every love’s just ageless rot
and every rose just folds.