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The rose
I watch the rose as it lowers its head, as if given up on the world.
The blood red petals darken and let go, leaving the stem and its harsh thorns.
This once radiant rose is now crashing down, on the table its sat;
until, all the petals are gone and there is nothing left, in the veins.
As it fades and drops, down into the soil, behind is left all that remains.
As time passes this beautiful flower is forgotten.
Given more time the rose begins to rise,
this time stronger, and colored with courage.
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