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Death of a Rose
When the rose blooms
My heart booms.
Her blood red peddles
All look so smooth.
That fine edges
Flow outward and wedges.
The leaves are all muted
And often disputed.
The more droplets it hosts
The more faster it grows.
But be...
My heart booms.
Her blood red peddles
All look so smooth.
That fine edges
Flow outward and wedges.
The leaves are all muted
And often disputed.
The more droplets it hosts
The more faster it grows.
But be...
