Alone in the room,
my hands are stained
with poetry.

I had a
little rosebush.
Red roses it
would not
bear, but
white
pearls
and silver bells.
The King's daughter
came
one day to
see my
little rosebush.
Her dress was
made of
silk and lace,
golden was
her long hair.
She asked for
my white
pearls and
my silver bells.
I said
"For a fair princess
like you I
have never seen!
I shall give
you my white
pearls and
my silver bells!"
She made a
necklace from
my
white pearls and
put them
on her neck,
she sewed my
silver bells on
her silky
lace dress.
So they suited
her very well!

The brown leaves
that shiver on the
bare branches greet
the last rays of gold
as the sun goes down.
A melody rises over
that velvet, shade of
fading green.
Bells of the indifferent
wind chime, for I am led
to a miracle of ancient
mother.
How beautiful...
A rose that grows waywardly
from within autumn's woods.
Spirits delighted to see the
rose that will not die, her red
petals shame my lips while
drooped sisters weep bitterly.
And in my garden, exquisite
fragrance,
Old memories,so sweet,
despite the thorns.
Illusions of the happiness of
the asleep and the dead...