The flowers outside the window,
Have withered into crippled buds
Coffee-stained, white roses,
Sullied, now impure
Yet still, the Sun shines on
Ignoring the pain of its children below;
We feel utterly abandoned
Yet when we know its apathetic presence
Entirely assured
Giovanna Marasco
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/flower-18/
