'Once your thorn would hurt.
Once your petals were red. Like blood.
Your scent, like thousands of perfumes...
Has gone.
Now you are dried.
Like 1.6 million people's hopes.
They have also gone.
You are similar, dried rose.
You have been beautiful, you've been growing up in a garden, enjoying the sun.
They have also been alive.
Like you.
They have spent their time in a garden, enjoying the sun, like you.
They have cut you off.
Don't worry.
Others have cut them as well.
Other people.
Similar, to you.
Similar, to them.'
Hello Ann
I am very sorry I did not respond earlier, I did not log in for a long period of time...
I will contact you asap
Best Regards
Sylwia Nowak