My mind haunt me again,
no reprieve that I
see in sight.
With heart
aching so badly,
in seeing shorter days.
Light of day end
so quickly,
and misery
pursue
for
weeks.
The silver rose has bloomed
and will not blossom 'til spring.
Withered petal long blown
in winds and decayed.
Ruined are my dreams
that lay scattered about me.
Just like withered petal,
I am softly in misery.

*Тадеус