Doth thine beautiful rose
Not wither
Under the ravages
Of not time
But the weight of beauty
And longing
And the immense pressure
That comes with
Being a flawless work
Or rather
A thing perceived as such
Sans effort
With those who look upon
Wanting more
But eventually
Withering
Turns from death to new life
And then soon
A ravishing rose grows
Once again
And we are charmed all over
And doth not
These same forces apply
To Apple
And their buggy software
So wake me
When clicking on upgrade
Withers not
In lieu of blossoming