Dew-drops glimmer, off blood-red roses, As their petals die, and our hope, closes. They slowly droop, heads bowed in shame, As the colour seeps out, a dying, flame. Their stalks they fold, the thorns grow weak, they day is grey, washed-out and, bleak. The sky above, is full of hate, roiling and angry, the storms don't wait. Our love is now, a dying flame, As we wither, never, to be, fixed again.
Tags: Lost Love