In the silent, gray world
when the gutters begin to cry
the plants begin to curl
and the flowers begin to die.
In the midst of this all
there rests a single red rose
that lies fixed, so as not to fall
above the heart that everyone knows.
The coffin of brown, dead leaves
cover the once-live ground
and the birds weep and grieve
for the now-silent sound.
The single red rose
cries with a lonely tear of blood
where a new life grows
deep in the dead earth's mud.
As the red rose dies
a new strength is born
for spring never lies;
renewing hope in the forlorn.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Hope never dies, we just lose hope and give up. Great point.