~Encased~

The vase was red

As red as wonder lit rouge

The sheen a skin silk luster

Of pearls and Sunday tea

The smell a paper thin

Aroma of cut outs, coupons, and smiles

But this is not my mother

This is not

All that remains

No flower could state

The state to be

No vase encase

The absence of tragedy

Yet the sentiment

Remains strong

Perhaps the essence

Still resides

The bird has flown

But not the song