faithless blooms

Roses are red.

                                 You pick lilies instead.

Violets of blue

                             weep faithful, jilted dew.

Roses are red

                   like wounds, words left unsaid.

Violets, e’er blue,

                           never told you they knew.

Roses are red

                       blooming blood in our bed.

Violets are blue.

                Love, you should have stayed true.

Photo & Poem (c) Lenore, 2017