A wilted rose on a stone
Atop a thousand wilted wishes
Waiting forever to bloom
To touch the future’s kisses.
A thousand miles trodden by the feet
Shades under which he used to sit
All cry softly on his departure
Their tears wilted in their stature.
He was born and he aged
He had lived and loved
Now he is gone
And no one has come to know.
The rose on his grave adorns
The earth that covers him
He can witness it from his cave
For he now rests under the grave.
No comments:
Post a Comment