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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