The Wilting Rose
This crimson rose, how fast it wilts,
its blood red petals fading.
How color dulls, leaves dry out,
How fast love is abating.
This rose was once so golden,
Sweet and rich and pure.
Its sweet scent floated on dream spun breezes,
When affection was assured.
It paled then in moonlight,
But ever did it grow;
This white rose opened wide my heart,
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