Sight of the heart

The dew on the rose petals. Teardrop in my eye. The cold and the darkness of the night bring vitality to the flower and strength to my feelings. Sad feelings getting stronger. The rose is happy with the breeze, but my heart is stone cold. My thoughts are spread by the freezing wind like the withered leaves. They're all over the place. My emotions are as dead as the litter. The moon is up there, shining its white beauty in the deep black of the night. My eyes can see it, but my dying heart can't feel it. The composition of nature is perfect, but only when it can touch the heart through the eyes. A closed heart can't feel what the eyes can see.