When brittle death and winter come,
I will forget the red rose of passion.
Spring's return is small consolation
for final silence,
limit of beauty and love,
the fallen petal, the cold stars,
the end of music.
Can you hear me pleading for touch?
Can you hear my song?
I want no memorial where time whispers
beneath falling leaves.
What of the pledge and promise of life
to not forget?
My voice is asleep like a winter bird,
my flower striped of its petals,
only your memory keeps my soul.
A super work of words! A truly heartfelt peace so adequately tuned in its description and meaning; and always with an element of grace as one realizes the substance, the meaning, and the solemnity that rules the subject in prompting such a work. Indeed, a masterful writing, Barry! Thank you! [rating: 10]
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very heartfelt and deep Barry