Writing Prompt: When the rose is dead

I was flicking through one of my journals, re-reading the entries and placing myself back in the memories that inspired me to record them within the book’s pages. Near the back of the journal I found a pressed rose, yellow, the colour of friendship.

I recalled a poem that I read 20 years ago.  I might have been touched with the words, but at the time was too young to appreciate what they meant. Although there is reference to love, to me,  it is more about memory and although the physical may whither, the memories stay with you, they have permanence in your thoughts.

Personally, I live to make new experience with the people I love, but replay those moments that have made me happy, whether they were 20 years ago, last month, or this morning. There are some thoughts, sights or even scents that can send my heart racing. Read this, and write down what it reminds you of. What do you feel when you read this?


Music, when soft voices die

Music, when soft voices die,

Vibrates in the memory;

Odours, when sweet violets sicken,

Live within the sense they quicken.

Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,

Are heap’d for the belovèd’s bed;

And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,

Love itself shall slumber on.

– Percy Bysshe Shelley

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