Her Bliss
Death is in the flower's heart -
Why to cry for life of any petal?
Death in purple ink of weary pens
Betrays the written yearnings
On her scented paper.
Death is laughing in her cry;
Her broken heart forlorn upon the sleeve.
Death ignores the plight of any purity -
He doesn’t care or seem to be aware of
What her dewy eye desires,
For Death
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