The rose once bloomed with vibrant grace,
Now withered in the garden’s place.
Petals fall like silent tears,
Marking the passage of tender years.

The sun that warmed its gentle face
Now casts a shadow, a solemn trace.
In whispers of the evening breeze,
Echoes of its beauty seize.

Beneath the stars, the memories lie,
A tapestry of love, a silent sigh.
In the garden’s heart, it finds repose,
A tender song of the withered rose.