dezembro 02, 2003

The Rose


A sad rose lay on the cold, dusty ground.
She whispers to me visions of lost memories.
I pick it up gently, but a petal fall down,
And I watch her dancing with the breeze,
To rest, so pure, where was found.
No man can take her from her grave,
No man can pick her from the ground,
For she shall rest in the eternal dust
Forever… Where shall not be found.

Posted by almahperditae at dezembro 2, 2003 06:15 PM
Comments

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Posted by: at dezembro 1, 2004 06:19 AM