She blooms in the embrace

of the unencumbered cold.

Her radiance

enthralls, enchants, and he

is smitten.

She gets

a little water, a little sun and

she glows,

for a time he is glad.

But the turn of the monsoon

brought different winds,

that summer she wilted away.

“He tries: a little water

a little sun, a little

too late”

For love,

like her,

is only red for a season.

READ
Rizal's retraction: Truth vs Myth

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