She’s so beautiful
She’s a distinct petal out of a thousand roses
So bright and radiant, but feels out of touch
She feels dark, so out of love
One says she changed, but a million are blinded

She’s a philosopher
An artist with her words
One says sadness
While she writes a silent ocean
Her brush steals hearts

Summer will find us shortly
In the bristling but once-filled heaps of grass
through the wind, the howling of sorrow
May the sun find our chests and warm their holes
For the lovers in the past have torn us through

I hold their hand for them to stay
But they drift further away
Must be killed three times to hold
These poets' eyes are not foretold
Despite the words that pour from the soul
A field of roses will rot
If the gardener does not trim the grot