A Poem

I'm not much of a poet, but here's something that show's I was creative once, even if it proves that I am no good. I wrote it awhile ago, but it has been in my head recently. As all poetry is, it's a work in progress, and I know it need some work. It has no title, not yet anyways.

This autumn field is full of fog
as a rainy day is growing cold.
These rainy days, they help me
cry. For all the ways I wish
that I had said good-bye, I wish
that I had never had to at all.
For I'm sure you know that a rose can't show
all the love that left inside of me for you,
and this petaled plant I leave to rest
will shrivel and shed its passionate red
and harden hollow and crumble dead,
while the grass green, that grows between,
divides our lives of love with death.

Comments - suggestions?