First Rose

anmol ki yaadein

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First Rose
A Heart Of Youthful Year Was Yearning,
Crying Out The Pain; The Burning
Tears Would E’er Remain Until
An Answer From The Man Would See Them Die.
A Sympathetic Mirror Blessed Her
Softened Up The Curves, Caressed Her
Skin To Help Regain A Calm –
Assuage A Heaving Breast And Blushing Eye.
And Through A Struggling Mind, A Chiming:
Someone At The Door; The Timing
Perfect And Exquisite In The
Reconciliation Of Her Woes