Too Late

She held a withered rose,
Pressed it gently to her nose;
Inhaled slightly, closed her eyes,
And wished to turn back time.

Her hubris had turned to bile-
A bitter stain upon her smile-
And it ate through each excuse
Until remained the ugly truth:

She thought that she could see
And plan for each contingency,
But when the day arrived,
No rosy bloom survived.

It is too late to say goodbye,
So she mourns the loss of time
And scorns the path she chose
As she cradles the broken rose.