She is my Rose

She looks so lost, and sad from here,
Her eyes are wet, from her last tear.
She is watching as the train pulls out,
It carries the one she has cried about.

He looks at her from the windows glare
and sees her standing, watching there
He wishes he could change his mind
But things can't change, if he stills the time.

So the train moves on, as it's lost from sight
She's still standing there, with tears in her eyes.
She looks so lost, and sad, and prose
This lady, this woman, this memory,
My Rose.

2 Nov 2003