A blooming flower, a sign so true,
A symbol of love in colors hue.
A witness to joy, a hope so bright,
From a heart that glows with light.

So the world whispers, soft yet clear,
But who am I in this sphere?
No soul longs or calls my name,
No love to spark a gentle flame.

"From whom is this flower fair?"
"For whom does its fragrance bear?"
Only darkness weaves my sorrow,
No embrace, no bright tomorrow.

Tears fall like the endless rain,
Jealousy stabs with silent pain.
"What is love?" I ask the night,
If none have held me in their sight.

Penned by my hand on the 24th of Chronos, in the year 967 AF.