Dust To Dust
I trimmed the thorns off the blood red rose to prevent my own flowing down the stem
The petals nestled soft as snow, the fragrance of a thousand nights and days
Misting the air, summoning memories and regrets, days so far and fragmentally near
The eternal green stems, rooted in the depths of the dust from which we came.
Copyright © Stuart Ackerman | Year Posted 2015
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