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Crimson Rose
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Beauty In Death The blood red petals of a rose
Fall on hard, cold ice.
Scattering as if trying to find the warmth of a flame.
Never being able to,
They wither and die.
Before their time had expired,
They waste away
As an early frost comes to claim them.
I really like this poem is beautiful yet sad, it really does say like you wrote it, The Beauty In Death. Great work.
Cheers