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The Withering Rose
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Spontaneous I sit and watch the sky turn black
As my rock-like shell begind to crack
And from that crack, there comes life
That cannot and will not be cut with a knife
An old broken building emerges this scene
And the crack which holds the life between
A rose it is
A wilting flower
It once was strong for rain showers
But now it stands
without much power
A frightening wind begins a storm
A new flower withering is yet to be born
To it's sadness it has been sworn
