Ever Compared a Drunkard with Rose

Soaker

A gaol of loneliness,
The value of togetherness,
For those who never honoured
Each, even with a tip of hat.

They join hands,
Determine and deliberate,
When that beautiful treasure,
Rose is plucked.

Oh! The expression is astute,
Pink of health withered,
And face turned pale white
Ah! It’s the petals next.

That Sucker draped in Black,
No, not the honey bee
But that Intruder
Delved in vascular! Alas!

Symbol of life, happiness
Is charring in Day
Oh! Drooping so low,
Brown leaves gone at last.

I am sweating
He is thirsty
Gosh! The cusp broken
Water already gone a few sand-watches back

Process was true, immortal
As though the metamorphosis
Metamorphosis of Aryan to Soaker,
Soaker to withered beauty.

Ah! Now I gather
Soaker is a Rose stem.