Sleep..Under the angel’s weep..Dream..Of rebirth once the world becomes again green..Where blue skies will once again be seen..
What if something could speak, That initially didn’t. What would it tell me you ask?
I wonder that always, whenever I see the flowers in the garden, what does a flower see when they all look at the sky so far from their reach? Do they dream? do they feel? I ask, because this beautiful rose? Is here well past it’s time, It’s still standing strong despite how it is now the end of November. What is it waiting for and what keeps it so strong?