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A Dying Rose
07/04/2010 @ 6:56pm

I sometimes think of my life as being just like a rose.
Once just a seed, planted, watered, and then was born.
As the sun shinned upon that rose,
it glistened and grew some more.
Once big enough, the rose began to bloom with sharp thorns down its stem to
protect it from harm.
After it rained, lonely drops would still flourish upon the peddles of that
The sun would show up on time and dry up those lonely drops away.
With all the water and sunshine that rose got, it still felt alone and
Is there any other flowers or is it just me
What's the point in showing your beauty with no one to appreciate it, love
it, hold it, tend to it?
Peddles begin to fall off and hit the cold ground as the sun shinned upon
that rose just one last time.
As the night sky began to glow with it's shinning stars,
that rose said it's goodbye, and wilted to the cold hard ground.
So just like me, that rose was born to die,
and yet we both will have learned a lot within that short time.
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