Sunday, March 27, 2011
The crumpled flower lives to breathe.
A forsaken with a wish to wreathe,
and with all the will to bequeath.
The garden is no where to seen
and on sight is the temple of queen.
Limping as it drags towards the unseen.
The route was always wended
and the prayers has never been ended.
It was always difficult not to be faded.
It reaches the altar of deathly divinity
and is lost admiring the profound beauty.
At last it lay burnt making all hopes empty.