I, by my wit, tell the heart wrenching tale, of three such souls of diverse thought.
Tulip was free by thought, free as a content eagle, soaring high above the clouds that mask the blistering truth.
Bunny was dear, or so seemed, for deep inside were webs, woven of treachery and selfishness.
Rose was chaotic, appealing to the thirsty, seductive by sense, and desperate to be plucked.
As do waters merge to fall, into the deep abyss, roaring, so did bunny meet tulip, and was enchanted.
Bunny wanted love, or so seemed, of the divine waters, such of the tulip, for none hate purity, though many envy.
Tulip drowned, weighing into the bliss bunny had garnished, over his deepest trenches of desire, painful and malicious.
Thus, in the sweetest times, when bunny and tulip, fell in love, of Immaturity, and infatuation, the fragrant rose bloomed.
Rose bloomed, to be embraced, and glazed upon, by such fur, as of bunny, despite the rigid clutch.
Bunny ignored, or so seemed, for tulip and rose, in dawn or dusk, in spring or storm, bloomed, never together.
The tulip was in delight, as was every free heart ever, until the moon, rose in the East, red and full.
The day was of nature's summons, the rose was withering, the moon in bloody tears, for none knew why.
Bunny hopped, mesmerized, towards the drooping rose, to help the fragrance, last longer.
The drooping rose, or so seemed, was delighted to see, the bunny approach, to caress and care.
None knew but the rose, of the malice planned, for obsessive was her petals, soft as a velvet.
The tulip witnessed in silence, her petals wet, for bunny was her world, she believed in replica.
The red moon blossomed, the bunny felt the petal, soothing was the touch, healed was the rose.
The stars glittered, the redness wore off, but not one breeze, that passed the tulip, went dry.
The bunny loved the touch, rather obsessed, addicted, drugged by the pollen, that night.
On the edges, then deep inside, into the maze of rose's petals, bunny's fingers circled, into the mire.
The bunny still not knows, what treachery and malice, had he been deceived by.
The rose, evil and thirsty, now enjoys, what's not hers, truly, living a false life, a dream, that none knows, when may end.
The tulip cries, but never is soothed, calmed by breezes of sea, old and learnt.
None knows, or ever shall, how to rewrite the tale, for such have been penned, again, a ton times.
Celebrating the world's poetry day. May the magic in words of people around, those whose works provide deeper insights, with a tinge of humor, into the deepest meanings of life, and of those surrounding them last forever and more. And thanks to every such one in name around me, for all that you have unknowingly dumped on me, making me smile and feel blessed everytime I get to read something penned by you. CHEERS!!!! YOU MADE ME HAPPY SOME DAY!!!
In name, a very special thanks to rebeca for, without her, I couldn't keep the fire kindling, that made all this possible.
Tulip was free by thought, free as a content eagle, soaring high above the clouds that mask the blistering truth.
Bunny was dear, or so seemed, for deep inside were webs, woven of treachery and selfishness.
Rose was chaotic, appealing to the thirsty, seductive by sense, and desperate to be plucked.
As do waters merge to fall, into the deep abyss, roaring, so did bunny meet tulip, and was enchanted.
Bunny wanted love, or so seemed, of the divine waters, such of the tulip, for none hate purity, though many envy.
Tulip drowned, weighing into the bliss bunny had garnished, over his deepest trenches of desire, painful and malicious.
Thus, in the sweetest times, when bunny and tulip, fell in love, of Immaturity, and infatuation, the fragrant rose bloomed.
Rose bloomed, to be embraced, and glazed upon, by such fur, as of bunny, despite the rigid clutch.
Bunny ignored, or so seemed, for tulip and rose, in dawn or dusk, in spring or storm, bloomed, never together.
The tulip was in delight, as was every free heart ever, until the moon, rose in the East, red and full.
The day was of nature's summons, the rose was withering, the moon in bloody tears, for none knew why.
Bunny hopped, mesmerized, towards the drooping rose, to help the fragrance, last longer.
The drooping rose, or so seemed, was delighted to see, the bunny approach, to caress and care.
None knew but the rose, of the malice planned, for obsessive was her petals, soft as a velvet.
The tulip witnessed in silence, her petals wet, for bunny was her world, she believed in replica.
The red moon blossomed, the bunny felt the petal, soothing was the touch, healed was the rose.
The stars glittered, the redness wore off, but not one breeze, that passed the tulip, went dry.
The bunny loved the touch, rather obsessed, addicted, drugged by the pollen, that night.
On the edges, then deep inside, into the maze of rose's petals, bunny's fingers circled, into the mire.
The bunny still not knows, what treachery and malice, had he been deceived by.
The rose, evil and thirsty, now enjoys, what's not hers, truly, living a false life, a dream, that none knows, when may end.
The tulip cries, but never is soothed, calmed by breezes of sea, old and learnt.
None knows, or ever shall, how to rewrite the tale, for such have been penned, again, a ton times.
Celebrating the world's poetry day. May the magic in words of people around, those whose works provide deeper insights, with a tinge of humor, into the deepest meanings of life, and of those surrounding them last forever and more. And thanks to every such one in name around me, for all that you have unknowingly dumped on me, making me smile and feel blessed everytime I get to read something penned by you. CHEERS!!!! YOU MADE ME HAPPY SOME DAY!!!
In name, a very special thanks to rebeca for, without her, I couldn't keep the fire kindling, that made all this possible.