Lonely I sit, my eyes fraught with
Misty tears, wept solemnly dripped
From eyelids, kept so dourly stripped
Of any happiness, void its pith
Of dreamt romance, supple and lithe.
Whispers I wish would whisk me away…
Are nay, but wisps which whisk away…
Any wistful wish which would wander
Of a woman wooed by wonder
Of my wit which whips as if waves…
How long are forgotten past days,
Which fade in shades of bluish grey?
Tinting my last rose holding hope,
On nightstand where lone glass jar lays?
Encasing all my dreams – I pray,
"Gift me, this beast, a Rose to hold!"