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A Dying Rose

She knelt down on golden stones
In front of a marvelous throne
Made of ivory and jewels not yet known
 
At his feet she laid a dying rose
On the thorns her blood did stain
A top her heart was a wound
With a steady streaming flow
 
Blood did tarnish the hem
Of her white shimmering gown
You would think it was made of snow
 
In anguish she bowed her head
Her long ebony hair cloaked her tears
As they weaved into the pools of red
 
She raised her blood tainted hands
In her deep, deep despair
Yearning for his magical healing
A healing that only he could prepare

(2014)

#Poem

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