The Roses…

They gracefully dance to the tune of the wind swiftly blowing.

Under the clouds slowly clearing for the blue skies.

While the sun’s rays reaching the flowers’ scarlet red petals, seemingly wanting to touch it. Maybe kiss it. Or embrace it.

The roses.

Feeling the incessant pouring of the rain.

Accepting the full glory.

Washing away all the bugs trying to ruin the nature’s gift of beauty.

With the promise of growth and never ending bliss.

The roses.

Which roots lie in the depths of their flourishing soil.

Keeping their strength as their stems hold on to the end.

Their thorns protecting them from the vermin of this vile realm.

The roses.

Do not wither in their natural course.

Do not grow old.

They succumb to someone else’s happiness or grief.

Is there even an in between? or just a small gap to fill?

The roses.

How do they feel?

That they need to face death to serve the people who once served them.

The roses.

Do they really die?

Or they live on…

humans’ happy memories.

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