Glass Rose

Sometimes even the glass rose shatters,
leaving love in tatters.

My love was to pure,
but even you put it in a ure.

We sat in the grass back then,
time was only ten.

We had it all to ourselfs, for a few ours,
our imaginations as tall as towers.

Now, I bury the glass rose with you,
so you can remember the torture I will never do.