Rosemarie's Sonnets

The twisted celestials,

The darkened skies.

The scent of burning flesh,

The oncoming storm.

The firing star, not undefended,

Left for dead, just like the fallen.

The lonesome wolves, there to protect,

And thorny roses, dying each day.

Birds of a feather, efficient attackers,

Cracks of thunder pealing through the night.

The End

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