Winter bloom

A year has passed. Retired year.
And still no quiet in her days.
The garden that she plans to plant
Is daily plucked by monkey strays.

He doesn’t like her spending time
In garlanding her jasmine flowers.
She doesn’t like him spying her
From windows of his ivory tower.

He never sees her eye-to-eye.
He talks in grunts of irony.
She does whatever needs be done,
Pretending there is harmony.

Today, he turned seventy two.
Today, she made his favorite treats.
Today, she cried again alone.
He made her garlands. Jasmine sweet.

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