Dried White Rose
Dried White Rose
As a raisin prunes in the noon sun,
Yellow petals twist around like fancy curls.
Piece by piece, they scatter
as winter clothes peel away.
Through the crackling thunder of the silent afternoon,
a smile remembers that moment.
The rose must have picked you
Out of the dozens of people that day.
Fresh as snow was the rose;
It slowly emptied the thorny steps.
With a year under its belt, it displays
us in all its unyielding beauty.
As a raisin prunes in the noon sun,
Yellow petals twist around like fancy curls.
Piece by piece, they scatter
as winter clothes peel away.
Through the crackling thunder of the silent afternoon,
a smile remembers that moment.
The rose must have picked you
Out of the dozens of people that day.
Fresh as snow was the rose;
It slowly emptied the thorny steps.
With a year under its belt, it displays
us in all its unyielding beauty.
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