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Dec 2020
Mourn, as the hour draws near--
I'll soon hear goodbyes.
Mourn, for the last petal from the dying rose fell.
Mourn, for thy time has come.
Mourn, not but a smile;
not but a tear.

I'll mourn,
requiescat in pacem
this is a poem i wrote dedicated to a friend i lost a month ago
chrishambolic
Written by
chrishambolic  20
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