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Mohita S. Siddharth

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The rose that hasn't been through the pain of being plucked is the rose I intend to grow with you my love Wistfully I willed, and kissed your hands In the clear pale light; the shineth above the moonlight gleaming in the dusky dawn Shining before the light and wonder, Laid by a passion in the eyes' sake, Yet, like that point of flash from thunder, Across my soul a white mist of day. Happy Rose Day my love. ©Mohita S. Siddharth The rose that hasn't been through the pain of being plucked is the rose I intend to grow with you my love Wistfully I willed, and kissed you

The rose that hasn't been through the pain of being plucked is the rose I intend to grow with you my love Wistfully I willed, and kissed your hands In the clear pale light; the shineth above the moonlight gleaming in the dusky dawn Shining before the light and wonder, Laid by a passion in the eyes' sake, Yet, like that point of flash from thunder, Across my soul a white mist of day. Happy Rose Day my love. ©Mohita S. Siddharth The rose that hasn't been through the pain of being plucked is the rose I intend to grow with you my love Wistfully I willed, and kissed you