Carlos Aragao (10-17-1959 / Brazil)
They keep falling...
Is one at the floor....
So pretty, so lovable, and so short in life,
Growing with no questions,
Just the hope of shine,
A treasure, lost forever in time,
Betrayed, for no reason,
And still shining,
As a instrument of hope,
With no captain and no direction.
Comments about this poem (Droping flowers by Carlos Aragao )
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