The rose remembers,
The dust from which it came.
I too remember,
The dust from which I came.
I remember blossoming,
From the bud I used to be.
And I remember winter,
I grew thorns that first frost.
I have memories,
From when I leaned constantly to a lover’s hand.
Because I too rose from dust,
And matured in cold months.
And soon I will drop my petals,
And I will perish,
Just to rise again,
Bearing wings like a phoenix.
Dec 16, 2024
Dec 16, 2024 at 9:23 AM UTC
The rose remembers,
The dust from which it came.
I too remember,
The dust from which I came.
I remember blossoming,
From the bud I used to be.
And I remember winter,
I grew thorns that first frost.
I have memories,
From when I leaned constantly to a lover’s hand.
Because I too rose from dust,
And matured in cold months.
And soon I will drop my petals,
And I will perish,
Just to rise again,
Bearing wings like a phoenix.
Roses are my favorite flower, they are so beautiful, but they hurt to touch.
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