The Game of Hearts

Flowers
may wither, leaves be fallen

Scarlet
Roses will always turn pale; Sunflowers forever sleep in the cold night

Sweet
treats never last for the bitterness always reign

Smiles
expire when the blissful day ends

Who
could blame the merry man who devotes his almighty treasures to his beloved?

The
woman who openly receives the gifts of her hundred aficionados?

A
hundred letters, thousand words to express the unexplainable art of this day

Its
exceptionality, why? No one should ever know.

What
deed should be the most welcome to her highest judgement?

An effortless greeting with a soft kiss on the
plump cheek or rather an expensive ornament, should that be enough?

The
heart is again playing imprudently with our bewildered minds, the soft, slow,
mixed beats plays unconsciously yet again in my ears.

A
minute, an hour, a day, an eternity is never enough for both worlds to find its
single universe.

Alas!
Many fail and continue to drown in the contemporary norms of time.

Never
try win in the Game of Hearts

No
one has ever won it, because they have lived it.

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