A peach-blossomed rose

Orchard's darling bloom

Once a token of love

Now lies withered and dying

By the unrelenting feet

Of the City

This was the horror

That did greet me

On the morning

Of your birthday

I stopped dead

Lips too thunderstruck

To even groan the death rattle

My brain fought the numbness

As it made the connection

Dwelled on the coincidence

Was this the remnant of my love

My dear sweet love, which did lie

Torn asunder for all eyes to see?

As my soul in unison lay torn upon

The pages of my poetry?

My love is dead

My love is rejected

Yet my foolish heart sighed fondly still

After the memory of one soul.

Next morning the rose had gone

Not even the corpse of love

Remained to mourn over

Yet there still remains

A grief not buried.

Natasha Haidar © 2004