The Last Rose of Babylon sat beneath the willow tree. All around her was a dream of emerald. Floating in this dream were butter-coloured lilies and daisies like fallen stars. The dying embers of sunshine glittered in her hair.
Oh but if it could last, she thought.
She knew it could not.
Tomorrow the Persians invade.
The time for gentle things was gone.
(Image courtesy of Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie)
Written for Sunday Writing Prompt “It’s All in the Title”