Flowers wither and turn
to dust,
As iron gates begin to rust.
The growing thorns begin to hide
The silent gloom of those inside.
The heavy rains begin
to pour,
To wash away what came before.
The rising floods and typhoons start
To sweep away a broken heart.
No lips blush red with
passion's fire,
No winking eyes express desire.
The chilling air begins to hold
Two frozen hands left in the cold.
The golden rings get
dark and grey,
As all the sweetness fades away.
No chocolates are left to greet,
Leaving a taste of bittersweet