Love lost like rain in the summer
gone to lands elsewhere.
The land must survive without it,
living off the fake rains of the garden hose.
Sweltering summer heat brings remembrance of spring,
of flowers in bloom, in the care of sweet spring rain.
The red rose misses the caressing rain most of all,
its blooms in decline.
The beauty of the rose, given by rain, is no more.
The sweet showers are reclaimed by the earth.
The last rain seeps through the ground,
as the rose's roots grasp the last drops.
The rose now survives off the garden hose,
yet its spring time beauty is gone.
It shall mourn its lost love,
'till they meet again.
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