by Kelly O’s
Forlorn, I stumbled on the Wilting Rose.
That it should recognize me was not strange,
It seemed, it saw in me its same.
For I too was dropping and longed for the rain.
Parts of me were falling away, shaken by a mere breeze.
I too was caged, separated from the world.
The rose and I were marked, of course.
Each, touched by death.
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