A rose. A lament. A past.

- He had brought to you his final flower

    Final flower picked from my garden

 

    All red like a stained white linen with 

        Blood 

        Or red wine

        

        A rose.

 

- You had written several sad letters 

    Sad letters too painful to read

 

    Everything described with harrowing

        Truth

        And brutality

 

        A lament.

 

- The little lovely private bubble burst all onto the horrible real

    The horrible real world from which we were so far!

 

    All that special dust and, love

        Gone

        Or lost

 

        A past.

 

Love, the saviour

    and the sin

Fell to from

    the grace

          of

            a

              girl

              tied

            to

              lace

         and

           pearl

         when I

Planted, the seeds

    of my despair

Beneath the roots

    of her

           greasy

           auburn 

             hair.

And happiness 

    lent its hand

             when

         Nature opened

               its arms

               and we

         both

                      fell 

                          in

                                                           together.