This, like a Rose, is
Withered and wore.
Clinging to
The very life it's been given.
Shall it be,
Let Lone?
Left to the cruel notions
We call time?
Or in our despair for this,
Empty, lifeless Shell,
Shall we take it in,
Revitalize it?
My answer:
No.
All come to a Time where they need,
Let Lone.
To ******* and pass on to another
Prime.
This is That Time,
It shall not suffer for it knows
What is to come.
Like I, child, know what is
To Come.