Former days of Summer with times coloured,
Flowers yet to bloom; young but not foolish.
Each petal knows of future times withered,
But each own stands firm through weathers perish.
Daylight falls flat South of the Red Square's heart.
Another loses confidence to feel.
This bud can not be opened; not a start.
Did this child really lose chance to heal?
The men can only complete their duties,
Women in their houses water constant.
Dancing in bitter blast, raw are the leaves,
Nothing and no more than small incident.
A lone fellow comes by and tells the stem,
'You are my rose, but I am your sole Friend.'
