Dried roses my heartache
Tender whispers of pain
And when I want to cry
I stand out in the rain
Mask the trace of my tears
That I'm sobbing in shame
But when I touch the petals
I fade to dust
And settle down
Between the mold and rust
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
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2 comments:
i like it
I harbour dry rose petals from funerals - in a mouldy dust bowl.
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