Yellow roses

The yellow roses he wore last night,
Yellow roses, yellow as wax,
Hang on your breast as a prayer,
Yellow roses, what could they tell you?

Trembling in the rhythm of his chest,
You wore them like trophies.
What kind of hidden sight did you take,
Or from which greenhouse, or from which alley?

Yellow roses that always faded,
With a mysterious and bold smile of star,
They were cold as the ice of my soul,
Were they maybe yellow as my forehead?

What could they say to you, asleep forever?
Caught at your young breast, the cold roses,
Buried in the bed of white lace,
Spread the flavor of my songs.

poetry by Mihail Cruceanu