By Reza Jaafar
Time ticks a soul too—
and that I cannot bear
Tick, tick, tick, tick
Different kind of air
Her red gown turns brown
Her green wilts to the ground
Lively—her life is
Alas—she’ll be missed
Mourn by a butterfly—
a bee
A melancholic kingdom—
can no longer heal
I’ll stand in corners—
night and day
With cordial hope—
I pray
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