Septembers Last Breath
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Twenty four dead roses
Heat waves and reposes
No one knows what never was
Autumn breezes sing in melancholy hues
Flowers dance around paupers grave
Buried now yet never saved
From life's despair or a loving hand
Sadness is the graves last grand stand
Loneliness lost in cobbled stone alleys
No one sees the empty tear
Anxiety knifes the lonely mans fear
Autumn winds chant yet no one hears
Four and score and long ago
Childhood memories in rivers flow
Now dry and scorched on withered page
Dead poets lost in the mind of a sage
Copyright © Arthur Vaso | Year Posted 2017
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