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when roses where too much
Folder:
reworked vintage
There you are,
trading small graces;
cups & saucers
like treaties of peace.
I sit back,
half‑skeptic, half‑believer,
watching this fragile pact
hold for a moment—
an apparition
of simple bliss.
Strange, how it failed
when roses bloomed
too brightly in the garden.
.
