Roses for Emily

She was fifty-five
But had already
Given up on life,
Having deciding that
It had nothing else
To offer her
Except more pain
And suffering.
She figured she was
Just biding her time
Until the day she died,
Hoping it was sooner
Rather than later.
She spent her days
Complaining about
Her aches and pains,
And life in general,
And reeking of despair.
It might have
Gone on that way
A long, long time,
Had she not awaken
And began to smell
The roses.
All it took was
The persistent prodding
Of an inquisitive
Three-year old grandson
Who wanted to know
What life was like
Back in the age
Of the dinosaurs,
And rightfully assumed
That she would know!