.

.

.

Roses

(Backer)

.

Roses, frozen and stoned

To pieces of glass

Chrystal glass

 

Every single rose – left for nature’s old way

Of taking life

When you’re taking life for granted

 

Then by this careless cold

The pieces, one by one

Mechanically turned to ashes of stone

Never to live again

 

Roses, frozen and stoned

Now no bloom nor sweet smell

But cold, grey sand

.

.

.

.

.

.

.