Lonesome Red petala piece of the treeis now fallen And freeBathed in theDew drops, pure as glassServed and protectedby loyal blades of grassIt retains its colourVivid and trueUnaware it’s fallenAnd would never be newIn decayIt glowsWhat it isIt showsIts fallenYet it remainsWith its colourthe mind it stainsSoon The petalwould cease to beDissolved in lifeno longerContinue reading “The red petal”
My Tales Within 