Her skin smells of the petals of a winter rose,
That the years have turned to stone,
A brutal flower in rocky soil ,
That once was a heart ,
As fair as summer as winters never came,
But the waining of a life's moon,
Brought winter in feeling to soon,
The oceans of youth dried to deserts of age,
And her rosy cheeks now left lines on her face,
The echoes of beauty lost as evening falls,
As bright eyes left dimmed,
That beauty never to be seen again,
And laying down she sheds a tear,
To all the lost and forgotten years ,
When the taste was sweet,
Yet now left bitter and cold,
Oh how cruel it is growing old.
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 2:59 AM UTC
Her skin smells of the petals of a winter rose,
That the years have turned to stone,
A brutal flower in rocky soil ,
That once was a heart ,
As fair as summer as winters never came,
But the waining of a life's moon,
Brought winter in feeling to soon,
The oceans of youth dried to deserts of age,
And her rosy cheeks now left lines on her face,
The echoes of beauty lost as evening falls,
As bright eyes left dimmed,
That beauty never to be seen again,
And laying down she sheds a tear,
To all the lost and forgotten years ,
When the taste was sweet,
Yet now left bitter and cold,
Oh how cruel it is growing old.
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