The rose; once beautiful and strong,
now death towards tend,knowing it won't be long.
Frail it stands; and the wind that once brought pollen,
blows just as hard to see it fallen.
It,once a symbol of love,
Now does crave,
For a taste of what it once gave;
That liberating feel of love,
For what's it now to a wing-clipped dove?
A stranger to the sky it once graced above,
Reality painting,as. temporary relations
what it once held as eternal love,in the frames of its imaginations.
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 5:32 AM UTC
The rose; once beautiful and strong,
now death towards tend,knowing it won't be long.
Frail it stands; and the wind that once brought pollen,
blows just as hard to see it fallen.
It,once a symbol of love,
Now does crave,
For a taste of what it once gave;
That liberating feel of love,
For what's it now to a wing-clipped dove?
A stranger to the sky it once graced above,
Reality painting,as. temporary relations
what it once held as eternal love,in the frames of its imaginations.