Oxford rose/ Cambridgeshire rose
At the birth of the year when we were in bloom.
I was from London.
You were from the moon.
If Cambridgeshire was a celestial body, then that statement would hold true.
Though at the time you were aboard.
We still began making plans for two.
Soon you moved to study at Oxford and I thought it suited your grace.
It’s funny thinking about the stories of London entertained you.
Different but similar; we knew each other well, no matter our place.
I laughed at your tales and you laughed at mine.
We shared our love for stories and writing.
We shared our love for things only we could have found divine.
February was when we were strong with our petals glowing red.
We dreamt of things to come and things to be.
Although they were still within our head.
March felt like when spring came to be.
Our eyes could meet again.
As you departed from France to come back across the sea.
April was the time when flowers would grow.
But we felt ours wither and turn dull.
Although it was slow.
We were in bloom earlier than most.
Maybe we burnt too brightly.
Our star collapsed to transmute into a black ghost.
Now the flowers have died when I thought they would have grown.
From its grave, I still hear it calling me.
Though I know you moved on.
Thornes that still climb my window where I might be.
Ghosts they echo of a promising future and past.
Though I fear they would haunt me for eternity.
So to put this behind me, a final rite is what I purpose.
I know you had your struggles I could not help with.
I know you had to go a separate way, but you will always be my Oxford rose.