The green spring hiking the load of sorrow upon his shoulders passed through the lanes of the gardens of our minds
We remained and the futile love and the nudeness of the foliage of our minds in the silence of a wintry night
We remained with our deep desire for the red apple and the commemoration of the greedy worm lurking from the heart of the bitten apple to the garden of our minds
We remained with the setting of our star and the endless touch of the sun dying in the silence of our minds and we whispered “Love is a red rose grown in a cold wintry night with the streams of pain flowing to her root and our eyes are the headsprings of the streams”
Ah you and I savour of melancholy, regret and despair you and I grew in the explosion of the mirror and we laugh at our belief tearning into pieces….