I was this yellow rose
hat of snow,
full of outrageous longevity.
deseeded rosary
the season against the sense of opportunity, when challenged
days before the expected
gave in and not step
to any type of frost.
wearing the sun for the big events
even in times of urgent humility
when I hung my head in front of or expecting the impossible
vain to hear my name.
Then came.
A drop of water and away again.
The rose stubborn quenches his thirst
also embracing the ice.
When too tired before the ineffable
gives the scissors in hand
the pruning.
I was in this rose.
Or maybe it was her,
to be me,
because now that it is no longer, I'm still
.
0 comments:
Post a Comment