rhdr

qrf

The sun is faded yellow
with toil and pain,
as the swallows
lament their parting grief.

Now, a soul-consuming
fairy tale of endless hopes,
dances in the city.
Dripping down a frosted
window cold, in the name
of a fickle lover.

Though I can write,
who listens to the poets?
So the flowers and I
cannot stay long.