All the roses in my garden
are slowly wilting before me.
As time goes by,
aching leaves finally find
rest over the greensward,
whilst harmless thorns
are weakly bent
in farewell.
Sometimes
rain starts falling
and the blossoms
reclaim their crimson,
yet the sun
always comes back
to burn their petals.
Everything is fine,
i will give them some water tomorrow.
