Sunday, October 28, 2007
Moonsoon blows twice a year,petals of your pride dropped with withered tears.
Cheeks so ful once,
now without cheer.
When pride is windblown,
what golden leaves remain?
Standing flowerless alone,
your angry silence speaks;
with a sharp tongu in my mind.
Words are like the fallen leaves by the wayside,
upon the ground they must bite.