I buried your heart
one fine spring day
and planted
a sighing rose
above it.
Perhaps some
would water it
with tears and fragments
of memories and sorrow,
but not I.
Pain is but trickery
and loss but a product.
What tears have I
for passing time?
Fearlessness is my virtue
and laughter my answer.
I am twilight
and my eyes are twinkling.
I buried your heart
one fine spring day
and planted
a sighing rose
above it.
My heart turns to stone;
it serves as a marker for you.
Fear not,
for it is time.