What was sung

Amidst the mist of the thirsty garden, one chilly morning

Wearing the face of one who’s hapless in love, or in mourning

 

She walked about, feeling small, unhappy with her insignificance

“I can’t even name these flowers”, she, a spring offspring, thought

She could not, in truth, even tell, but only guess that they were not

Gardenias or jonquils, as she knelt and smelt no scent of amorousness

 

And she felt strange as no one else but she cared to name them

There was a blind crowd, yet none around seemed ready to be asked

The question’s why that missing scent, if found, could never last?

A withered rose, in response, sang the Silence, our hearts’ anthem

Reviews

[Patricia]

this is actually very good and the art work is brilliant

[SleeplessVolcano]

A withered rose.....how expressive....I like how you combine different senses....smells, colors, sight.....and the blind......inspired writing! :)

[Eve S.]

Thank you much for passing by. Appreciate it.

[Zahra]

interesting idea. beautifully flowing melancholy and depth.