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Jan 2019
A wilted flower lies upon a gravestone,
sober and still it glares you to unease.
Time will never relent,
for rich nor poor.
I sit there with the faint breeze tantalizing the dead leaves
to flutter a final dance, and perchance, live again.
For a time, i'm overcome with all of mortality,
but we must remiss, my dear, we simply must,
must must!
Written by
Samuel  21/M/Manchester
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