sábado, 12 de outubro de 2013

Rose is dead

roses gave her a name
wild roses gave her a smell
and dry roses gave her a lover

some roses had adorned her imperious, furious blonde hair
a unique  thorn hurted her finger and heart
and that rose was blue, the same colour of his pefect pale blue eyes
his perfect love, for ever and ever rejected to grow
on the same ground where that purple and white marble roses gave her
the name of loneliness

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