Poetry

The flower in the meadow

The roses cannot be red,
For the violets sure are blue,
Yet, only tears can be shed,
Every time I think of you.
My heart, like a flower,
So delicate to the touch,
Weeping every hour,
I never knew they cried this much.
The petals, they keep falling,
As the days go by,
It's your name, I'm calling,
Soon, I will go dry.
I only ask so much of you,
Why bring me all this pain?
Please remove this blue,
From the sky,
And bring back the rain.