Buricano Moan

Autor:Cassiano Ribeiro

It was a sunday afternoon. A storm moved away from the horizon,resumed on steam and whispering with noun. I was waiting for someone. She. The time runned out fast and she doesn't show up. The afternoon was driving to an end and the capricious rain returned. There was a garden in front of me. The formidable roses from the two rosebushes were sacrificed to the cold wind. The raindrops were heavily falling on the roses ripping of his painfull petals. I thought, I felt, that she will not show up in our date. A tear cut out my  soul. I thought:
THE STORM'S ENTRAILS /
MAKES ME CRY /
THE ROSE'S PETALS!