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Poetic Collections

PostPosted: Thu Nov 14, 2013 5:44 pm
by Henley
The rose
Each ivory petal,
Bloomed with such grace,
The beauty was caught by the eye,
Yet the thorns were ignored,
One trickle of blood running down pale skin,
One sanguine drop landed on the delicate plant,
The tip of the petal bled scarlet,
But the pain was ignored to study the spectacle.