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O' Widow of the Worlds, embrace thy darkest hours.
Breathe evenings cold perfume, recall woods and flowers.
Glide proud amongst thy memories and foggy dreams,
pause pensive, gently pick a black rose for thy hair.
Give tears, settle 'pon thy fate as destiny deems,
walk through the mist and dissolve into the air.
At peace 'pon thy darkest hours,
sigh alone, a door to close,
sadness sleeps for all eternity,
the silent death of a rose.
© Pagan Paul (10/10/17)
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Final poem of 'Rose' trilogy
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