The wilted garden

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
People always leave.

Submitted: March 12, 2013

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Submitted: March 12, 2013

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If I had a rose every time someone left after they promised they wouldn't the garden bed upon which I could walk would cover the vast majority of space and time.

Wilted and worn the roses would turn like the feelings, towards me, of those who have left Why? Because nothing lasts, not even a rose


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