Red and green slightly above the granite,
Blooming in the mirth of sunlight.
Two colors uniting, shining as glace,
One little rose is guarding this grave.

In the rain, in the rain, when the sky wails,
When the night and day become a jail,
When the gardner of garden forgets this place,
One little rose guards this grave.

In the time of Autumn, weather of the bottom
when the flower is forgotten, in the heap of cotton,
When the garden itself will refuse to embrace,
One little rose will guard this grave.

When the relations of deceased will be perished,
When his memories will no longer be cherished,
When the world will not remember the buried case,
One little rose will guard this grave.

In the torments of storms, in the winters long borne,
In heat of the summer and the bird’s song,
When the memories will be just a phase…
One little rose will guard this grave…

copyright © Philosophical Pen

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