When Roses Die

When roses die

We do not rid of them

Rather watch them dry

Let them live again

It is a curious thing

To save a dead rose

Why not wait for Spring

When new life grows

We press brittle petals

Between flimsy pages

Hang them to settle

Left to dry for ages

Dead roses we keep

To lost love we cling

How strange to seek beauty

In even dead things

The End

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