Resigned myself to making little tissue paper flowers,
Pretty roses made of dreams that waste away on rainy days,
Pink carnations, petals dripping with the inky drops of tears,
Soaked with softly pastel smudges in a chilling moonlight glaze.
They’re held between my fingers in all their fragility.
I watch the way that they disintegrate in golden light,
And coldly all their petals go to dust in morning sun,
They disappear as gracefully as darkness of the night.