Sunday, November 29, 2009

Anger

A garden made of love and grace
His hands uncover her crimson face
Fury ends all her worries
Carefully planned, time fuels her hurries

Melancholy, short of describing his sorrow
From where, must he find the strength to borrow
All her hopes for rapture goes
Where only her troubled soul will know

A rose for him, she feels relief
A rose for her, his tears of grief





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