A rose is but a rose,
until you pick it
from the thicket from which it grows.

Thorns and perfume sting the air,
petal’s wilt and fall to the ground.

Amongst lovely things,
lost to the spring,
as winter came after summer,
and before the fall
everything froze from just one touch.

A kiss from winter’s heart,
to show her love for summer’s heat.

Amongst lovely things,
everything grows but nothing lasts forever.

Aw such a lovely rose,
once stood tall and over grown,
now became a beautiful deep red gown
blanketing the ground.

Now lay’s amongst lovely things.


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