to the man i once loved: a poetry

The Sick Rose

The Crepuscle is about to smile,
but the sunflowers
don't want to hide.
The glade is about to
cover itself
but the flowers
hate to be in shades.
The one who's in deed
is a sick rose,
wilting,drying,
dying.
The one who's dead
is the one
who gives much joy
to anyone.