looking for my rose

I was afraid, but I had to go back there, I had to find my rose, it was mine, I belonged.
There in the garden of the insane, the frantically tried, without a moment's breath, give me no respite, past life without an umbrella, I paused for breath and it was there I saw her, was leaning on a wall nearby, was always beautiful, I found her crumpled, maybe the rain, or perhaps some animals, but I found, my wonderful pink papier-mâché.

nuccia Cammara