Your love for me was like a bud of rose,
Filled with thorns and yet beautiful
I would not mind writing you a poem or a prose.
And just like a rose, your love has bloomed,
I was blinded by its beauty, little did I know I was doomed.
But just like a rose, and all the flowers in the garden,
Your love turned old, bitter and cold all of a sudden.
And there I was, wishing that your love was like a sunflower instead.
But you were holding a bouquet of roses that night with everything that has been said.

I am consumed by the words, “Roses are red…”
I love you, loved you rather, but why can’t I get this out of my head?
I realized that I wish I had a love like a sunflower,
Bright and wonderful, but you were chasing another.
Your love until the very end was like a rose,
Filled with thorns, and it decayed.
Your love faded, just like the rest of them, you never stayed.