Feb 2018
my soul rests upon flower
beds...
loves me, loves me not as she
picks at their heads.
she runs to and fro,
she comes back to her bed
a dead, headless flower...
no colours seem to show.
beds...
loves me, loves me not as she
picks at their heads.
she runs to and fro,
she comes back to her bed
a dead, headless flower...
no colours seem to show.
