Little Flower Seller

Dear me!!! those two little eyes,

fumbling balls of petrified innocence.

How do i forget you my angel face,

even if am deprived of thine rosy glance.

Amidst the lifeless vagabondage in hell,

A fugitive here, folding my enormous wings in pain.

stalking around the obscurity, i met her,

that little archangel.

She, a primrose, bounded by blood roses,

as they wait for the lovers.

Stretching a bud, fresh with sweet odor,

she baffled thus, for my hand took the

bloom carefully.

Undecided, for whom this blot of love rests,

yet i held it over my bashful heart dreamily;

A loner from the black and white,

my bosom never suits this herring.

Death, her focus on my angel's gift,

and my palm felt a petal trembling;

Even as the scarlet face beamed proud,

unaware of its ephemeral moments.

I lend the flower to a souring heart,

it killed his misery and won a hand;

How glad am to tell this to my sprite,

for i marched with an overwhelming mind.

The streets looked in absolute endurance,

except for the primrose, that's vanished;

A chill slit my toneless face,

as i saw the bloodspurted petals amidst

that dull crowd.

They closed her eyes for the last sleep,

wrapped in a cheap cotton, there lies my

little seraph, her face still, yet gleaming.

Snatched away by a raging city,

her soul ambled over someone's weep.

What an irony and fate i hold here,

for my heart is still not crying.