The 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 the wheels of 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.