She sprinkled nectar on the blood; and as they mingled, bubbles rose as in a pool on which raindrops fall, and in an hour's time there sprang up a flower of bloody hue like that of the pomegranate. But it is short-lived. It is said that the wind blows the blossoms open, and afterwards blows the petals away.
The gods of fate pluck him away at the height of beauty and I can only so wonder how Venus ever managed to live afterward. Those are the things and events that weren't written, those are the things that weren't spoken, for who wants to listen to a broken heart?
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