burying a withered rose ...

i have decided to bury a withered rose today.
Hanging a dried rose by my window will not revive it.
It is a stalk out of somebody's bouquet. An empty hope.
I may never like rose again but i should have a better look at the clear blue sky.
Bye my withered rose .. wishing me my own garden of adam and eve.

I have heard something, a statement most uncannly but yet most effective. Suddenly, I feel that the distinction between what is real and unreal has always been there but it was just, reality was never that prominent.