This rose, these stains of rosy red bleed from it’s petals
it is said
the perfume lingers just as sweet
by other names laid at my feet,
now leaks the attar from its heart
into its mystery, pierced by this lover’s dart.
This rose, its colour now is gone,
its lovely form becomes undone,
this rose, this one of many things
ceases to be, and yet, it’s essence sings
of lovely days and nights of bliss
when I came running for her kiss.