THE GIRL WHO SPOKE POETRY

COMPARISION

You are just like a flower, the old man said

My child. Just like a rose one day

you will be plucked In pure admiration

by a poet grieving his beloved, his lost art,

You will grow too dear to him

enough to symbolize his love.

He will keep you between the pages

filled with maudlin treasures, opened after ages

he will caress you with his wrinkled hand

and his eyes will lit up reminiscing your delicacy,

your place in his heart.

But I did confide the fact that

though his sayings pleased my ears,

why was I picturing a tree?

a certain one, I must say,

bearing the forbidden fruit;

rather than a lover,

the first man arrives

defeated by temptations, took a bite

everyone knows the rest,

but what is better?

To be a rose or

the tree bearing the fruit of good and evil;

to be a reminder of forgotten grief or

to be the sin someone did;

what differentiate me from the woman I despise?

If I am red, her fruit was red too

both feminine indeed.

-she pondered as she vaguely greets a goodbye to the wisely aged