An unfortunate,
Red summer Rose,
Burnt and soft,
Missing the shade,
That lingers so close by.
Red Wings Plucked,
By curious hands,
Belonging to a mind,
Whos only sin was to wonder,
How a Rose could burn,
Having never touched Fire.
Submitted: December 11, 2020
© Copyright 2021 Flambe. All rights reserved.
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HJFURL
Beautiful!
Sat, December 12th, 2020 1:24pm