Wilted.. Poem by Agatha Eliza
Wilted..
among the burning ashes,
my dream lies in suspension;
clinging on a fiery sky
with crimson clouds
too dead..too wilted..
here, on my tombstone lie
red wilted roses of our autumn
plucked by your cold hands,
right before the dawn
of winter..
but..how can I ever forget
how time's quickly running out,
in this frozen space
that's breathing
the icy vapors of the death?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/28/2026 8:14:39 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
