The writing has faded
The pages have yellowed
The rose is inodorous
And thorns seem innocuous
*****
Years have crawled languidly
A protracted war on her peace
Moulding her heart gradually
From squishy muss to skilful ease
*****
And yet her lips quiver instinctively
Her eyes light up in cognisance
An indelible proof of love’s transience
His autograph buried in the paper tomb
photo credit : Laura Furhman @ unsplash
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