- Books, Literature, and Writing
What Day is it Today?
Red roses scattered on the streets,
The man said, don't touch them with your feet,
But he's too late for I ruined the sweet
taste of passion and heart beats.
I saw, in the woman's laundry, a pink sheet,
She washed it though still neat,
Then filled soft cottons on the seats,
For she wanted to make his man glad when they meet.
Hearts, without life, hanging on the door,
Cupid, Venus' son, sleeping on the floor,
Mermaids, I hear their voices there on the shore,
Elementals rise from the under core.
Oh, but that was fifteen years before,
I was six years of age when the man and woman adore
each other and nothing else more.
Now, all they know is they don't know each other,
They forgotten to remember
that in the same bed they'd slumber,
From January start through the end of December.
They left six angels in heaven,
And never did they come back to get them again.
So what day is it today?
If it's not special for me, anyway?