They lived in hope - alas no more,
for petals that once were a rose, now lay scattered on the floor.
It was a lover's gift, pink like her skin, soft and pure,
with a delicate hint of fragrance that's unmistakeably Christian Dior
It had been placed with pride and admired near her bedroom window,
always seen in light and never in shadow.
But slowly, the love that once was, faded like that of the rose,
unable to unwind time, unable to transpose.
Eventually it all came to a predicable end,
leaving an empty vase with just a single dried stem.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem