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Ripvayne

Poetry: A Rose Between - 8/11/14

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Its rough work finding peace of mind


For yet a rosestem remains, curled firm betwixt our hands


And though this unwatered flower can only wither


These dead thorns remind me of our forgotten plans


A bitter recall to the gardens we tended those cool spring nights


Oh how foolishly I would dive into that rosebush again

Updated 11 August 2014 at 12:51 PM by Ripvayne

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