When The Roses Wither

Rumors have often come to me

Of a strange wedding in my family.

That a bride of utmost beauty and a divine serenity,

Was welcomed despite the mother's uncertainty.

And that seven years after the wedding night,

With two sons the bride cried,

On a tempestuous evening as the grayness sat in,

Revealing what she had been.

I always wondered where she went after her heart was broken,

Putting trust in a man she thought her husband.

I guess a curse runs through my veins,

That I live to see my love die in vain.

Not of death, nor of rejection,

But of strangeness of the faction.

That I see my bride in my dreams,

And the most beautiful she is it seems,

But alas! it is only a veil, a mask that hides,

The true identity of the one I want by my side.

In strange temples and wedding altars I wander,

When I sleep, and in my waking hours I surrender,

To the bride in the Golden Veil,

What end will she bring to my tale?

Our chance meeting occurred on a day,

Where the moon and sun sat at the bay.

A painter painted a painting of our meeting

I stood by the sun and she by the moon, how fitting!

What your heart says your mind knows,

And what your mind thinks your heart shows,

Mine was beating, once for the bride in my dreams,

The other for the Rose that withers in breeze.