Winter Bouquets

 

Where goes the freshness

of a miracle once flowering?

From the talon of a bird gets pried,

the heirlooms of those times

we tried to plant our own happiness

 

In the earth’s cold chest of promises

the Perseid of our hope lies fading;

all those tears we cried

are saline to dehydrated days,

resurrected as dead bouquets.