It is crying for milk and for
It’s mother’s warmth
It is surrounded by rotten leaves and wastes
It is crying for it’s mothers lift
It might have been born before an hour
That rose has been left alone in that bin
Who is it’s mother and why she deserted it?
He only knows and none cares it’s cry
Though that road is busy and crowded
None come to help it
Though many mothers crossed that road but
A mother with mercy hasn’t crossed there
Seconds, minutes have gone and
It has stopped it’s cry. And it’s breath
After it’s death,
A van from an orphanage came
To bury that rose in the earth.