O withered rose! How can I still call you a rose? How can I call you the longing of nightingale`s heart? Once the zephyr`s movement was your rocking cradle In the garden`s expanse joyous rose was your name The morning breeze acknowledged your benevolence The garden was like perfumer`s tray by your presence My weeping eye sheds dew on you My desolate heart is concealed in your sorrow You are a tiny picture of my destruction You are the interpretation of my life`s dream Like a flute to my reed-brake I narrate my story Listen O rose! I complain about separations!SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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