Are you here to stay?
When a wild white rose grows where it never, It s purity is compromised,
Curiosity urges are flattened,
A white rose I was my orchard fresh, Not a single man had drawn from my well,
Then that winter morning,A bucket fetched from the fresh rose,
The petals not rosy anymore,
The pain and joy of discovering prettier red roses growing within me ,
With the fetcher disappearing in a corner, bucket well tucked perhaps waiting for another fresh rose.
The fetcher left, came back, left came back and now he is back maiming my heart at each instance.
My little red roses now in the orchard , growing up to the sunshine.
My sentimental question goes to the fetcher,
Are you here to stay?anyway to go you may.
i dont need you anymore.