Here you lie among thistles and thorns Forlorn, forsaken, forgotten? No, never, by me, Witness my seat by you! You ask why I stay, Ah, my love, how can I not? My life is twined with you Can I cut the thread that binds us still? I live the present with the past in mind Do I have a future, do I look forward? Not at all, unless its my end How can I, when I've lost my half, my you? Man's life is like the grass flower, Doesn't it bloom, die in a day? Time, though short, seems long, Oh, when will I go, when will I be dust?
Friday Fictioneers is talented group of enthusiasts penning down a story, a poem, a prose, etc., expressing their heart about a photo prompt, every week. Thanks for this week’s beautiful photo prompt © Liz Young