Nights soughed sweet nothings
Days were walking hand in hand
Love was a tryst by the deep
As oasis in desert sand.
Life now is cut-and-dried
Love is vainly asking a date
You sound blandly hardheaded
"Sorry! I am working late."
As the relation wears on
Excuses, bickering and blame
accuses in silent treatment
Ardor weeps
in candle flame.
Bouquet with anniversary note
-an appraisal of kinship,
That is what makes us dote
being carefully realistic.
Yet the fragrance is lost evermore
vanished in the daily chore
Nowadays,
the flowers are made of plastic.
