The Mystery of the Roses

Every morning when she awoke

From her nightly repose,

There upon her doorstep lay

A single, crimson rose--

 

A rose as fresh and as fragrant as any

She'd ever smelled or seen.

She put it in a vase each day,

Wondering, "What could this mean?

 

Is it a secret admirer? Or could it

Be a secret gawker?"

Then a thought occurred to her:

"I hope it's not a stalker!"

 

She tried waiting up all night;

Her vigilance was in vain.

Every morning a new rose appeared

Despite wind or rain.

 

She figured that a surveillance camera

Would clarify everything surely.

"But maybe it's better left unsolved,"

She said to herself demurely.

 

So on and on the mystery of the roses

Continued year after year.

She was curious as to how long her secret

Admirer could persevere.

 

One day her neighbors noticed a pile

Of roses at her door.

Something wasn't right, for that

Had never happened before.

 

They entered her home and what they found

Caused them all to start:

Their lifeless neighbor lay on her bed

With a red rose over her heart.

 

(9-26-15)