Withered

A withered rose to represent,
the tie that binds, damaged and bent.
Those times we spent, came to an end,
ran out of space, to make amends.

They got your ears, fed them with lies
you should have known me deep inside.
Unpleasant looks filled up your eyes,
did not defend, instead, I sighed.

A stranger’s face is what I seen,
when I last saw you look at me.
Old days are lost, will never be,
for the best good, we both agree.

Let’s laugh at times from our past,
a youthful space with no contrast.
Imagined games, we wished could last,
enjoying life, having a blast.

Wish you the best, from dawn to dusk,
may we both find friends we can trust,
my life is good as it adjusts,
aged memories transform to dust.

– Grace Y. Estevez – Reddy

Originally Published on March 26, 2021