People often say to me and told me often,
Moon often say to me and sun told me often,
He writes beautiful so I asked him
Can I be your 'word model'?
Holding the rose in one hand thorns in another.

"You're so prosaic" He called me and laughed
at me.

Because there are far too many beauties
to write nice poem,
Far too many images to be captioned,
And far too many feelings to be expressed
with poems,
far too many words to be 'word model'.
So he saved his words for them and leave.
Rose disintegrated into petals, thorns Impaled
the heartbeat.

Next day I sit with my favorite letters in
front of mirror,
holding rose is one hand thorns in another,
And think can I be a 'word model'?
I start writing slowly and cautiously
spreading...