How I wish i was a rose, for I will bloom and blush when the sun shines bright, and the rain is light
When I mature, i will be plucked by the giver of gifts, picked in bits to be spread by the proclaimer of love, and be crushed by the smeller of scents
As much as the above, only the rose knows it withers when the sun is harsh and the rain is scarce.
(C) All Rights Reserved. Poem Submitted on 07/25/2021
Poet's note: 25/07/21
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