A-b= Sad

Love is sad, and love is cruel.
To find it again, don't be a fool.
My flower was young,
And my flower was sweet,
When we were together,
Our passion was heat,
We traveled together, never apart,
And I knew that forever she would be in my heart,
I would look in her eyes and I would hold my breathe
To lose such a treasure would mean certain death,
This sweet little thing that I used to adore,
I never thought we would be no more.
The sun went away and it started to rain,
The joy in my heart soon turned into pain.
My little flower that I adored,
My absence was long, and she got bored
My flower has wilted from the lack of the heat,
Resentment took over, and our love was beat,
If only we planted more of those seeds,
Our garden would flourish and not the weeds.

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poem by Juliet Sinclarie
Added by Poetry Lover
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