in full bloom
than to see it wither, it's petals
fall off, one by one to the ground.
When love dies it goes softly.
It doesn't make a sound.
What's left then but a hardened
stalk amidst the bitter thorns.
When love dies it goes slowly.
If you listen, it forewarns.
I wouldn't want to cut off its fragrance
sweet or crimson passion spread.
When love dies it takes everything.
You bleed the blood it shed.