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My Love.
Finally when the rose fell down,
no one caught the falling bride.
They all sat watching the spectacle,
no knight came to the damsel's rescue.
Are there stories of such dark splendour?
The ones where chivalry unassumingly died.
The tales talk of strong proud men,
the ones that sing of meek humble women.
When the world was born,
It was nurtured by beings that bleed.
Beings who were never ashamed,
Beings who knew no taboo.
Dear rose, you dont need a knight.
Your distress has never been your own.
The world wants you take look after your petals.
Dear rose, take care of your thorns.
D