Why to cry for life of any petal ?
Death in purple ink of weary pens
Betrays the written yearnings
…On his scented paper.
Death is laughing in his cry;
His broken heart forlorn upon the sleeve.
Death ignores the plight of any purity
He doesn’t care or seem to be aware of
What his dewy eye desires,
For Death beckoned :
‘Embrace the jar ! ‘
And yes, he did
For Death, of course.
After all, no other man would
Open up his hand and bid his with a kiss,
So Death became his bliss.