• The petal falls from a withered rose,

    It beauty lost in the cycle of time,

    Yet, its bloom as surly as the river flows.

    As life repeats its perpetual ryhme,

    A single soul passes to and one hold,

    her lives uncounted and identity lost,

    she retains his youth, yet still feels old,

    Much like that rose left in the frost.

    The petals fall and bloom again,

    Defying all nature of time gone by.

    and still, no one knows just when,

    This rose wil freeze and finaly die.