Apollo:Man is like a bud in the winds,that flies away in its time and venus Roses in the farmfields drop once to be picked by its angels that every Love can be loved cherished as the scents of roses,for a damsel's worth the energy of her lovers only in the morning and the winds blow and the night cometh and rottened roses on farmfied beauty and scents dissipated and no one picks till the tide forlorn swingeth.Indeed bird of roses in the love magnet like the love itself when no one in the smothering fields its fallen roses gathered,flies away imponderables of the forlorn winds in dingy space before dusk.How do i know whom he that loves that my fallen roses be gathered in their prime?Roses in the farmfields are meant to be loved by their scent and when the scent is faded and evanesced who will love the roses from the netherland of the forlorn miles?It flies away with no clemency and the night that sleeps sloth it dire to wake it up.Neither does it have jubilant afternoons nor jubilant evenings.Tis true love is