Brief Life
My father told me how
Pretty petals blooms
and blow away
In just one day they’ve gone away
So dry we cant fresh again
even if we cry and cry and cry our pains
and our eyes frizzle bleeding clots of rain
it can never stop heal the wound
But the tears we pour
they never waste away
They make dews and wet the earth
that just before our eyes
New roses sprout again
cheering up our sorry faces
though
The joy it brings still has an end
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