He set the rose on the table,
his nose bright red.
A smile on his face, he bowed
and stepped back.
The rose was watered with beer,
by the waiter who smiled,
and had a normal colored nose.
Clove flavored beer on the stone table,
the glass slowly flowing toward the ground.
I watch as the rose dries and
turns to dust as it sits on the granite top.
The beer evaporates into the air as
time continues to move on.
The glass flows downward over centuries
until it is only a puddle
resting before us
and the rest of the world has died.