A flower will wilt despite its elegance:
The diminishment of a fragile fragrance.
To speed the process, inject melancholy.
To heal the wound reveal her folly.
Or forget, if it lessens your strangest pain,
Though the desperation will drive you insane
With disturbed thoughts of an ever open sore,
Past is haunted by what never turns to lore.
A most valued happiness left to perish,
Although it was what you promised to cherish.
The wind through my ears whispers your distraught sigh
Should you murder it now, or allow it flight?
My dear, do not turn your back and do not fret,
For I know that you cannot truly forget.