Here is my gift, not roses on your grave,
not sticks of burning incense.
You lived aloof, maintaining to the end
your magnificent disdain.
You drank wine, and told the wittiest jokes,
and suffocated inside stifling walls.
Alone you let the terrible stranger in,
and stayed with her alone.
She has a voice...
No one can cross...
She has a chant...
Like a 'Breathing Rose'...!
Her words are so simply hung. I love her words.
i like it very touching