Dr Abe V Rotor
How can you write terror with a smile?
Flower in her hair, feather on her pen
Helping hand takes a rest
Street view when the door is locked
Dog is a girl's live doll
Flowers, flowers, anyone?
How time moves on, creeps or flies,
sweeping across the thin red line
never to return, never to retract,
neither the unfinished nor sublime.
Treasure its essence in transience,
with the world going round and around,
unceasingly over its remaining time
so with ours on this planet bound.
It's across this line that we explore
by serendipity or discovery;
and glancing back at sweet memory
pushes us forward to be free. ~