In the garden of the soul, where love once blossomed,
its shoots withered, passion consumed.
Cautious hope perched on its petals,
fading silently, like a flame that settles.
In the corner of memories, whispers of caresses,
the echo of laughter no longer blesses.
Loves are shed in an endless autumn,
the wounded heart marked by disdain.
Among sighs, embraces are lost,
kisses vanish like scarce traces.
In the soul's sky, gray clouds hover,
an eclipsed sun, shadows tenderly cover.
Once vibrant, the shoots now bow,
like butterfly wings quietly avow.
Captive in the lace of what was and is no more,
love bleeds amid tears and months galore.
Yet, in the gloom, new rebirths emerge,
resilient shoots amid sorrows that surge.
The scarred soul learns to let go,
even if love is lost, hope continues to glow.
In the dance of time, the heart persists,
weaving whispers of love that resist.
Though tears water the soil of pain,
somewhere in the soul, flowers of love bloom again.