In the first week, the plant was bountiful with flowers
The time he loved her sweet
The promises that they would keep.
The trust, they both would reap.
In the second week, down came
the unforeseeable rain
Their fights, all in vain, as they ended their days
In each others’ arms
Under the shadow of the candle’s flame.
In the third week, there was an unforgivable storm
More than half of the flowers were gone. They saw less
Of each other. Pieces of him in her and her in him
In the fourth week, the clouds started to calm, but
Grey they still were. Only one flower perfectly poised, remained.
The one he had saved for her.
*** Young love that is short and simple, yet passionate burns fast, my friends. But the scars always remain.***