Dry roses in a crystal vase Each bloom clinging to a thorny stem Are these scarlet blossoms all that’s left of love: Dry petals crumbling into dust.
Faded petals drop off one by one Leaving behind the stalks of past desires Only dead leaves and cruel thorns remain Waiting in vain for love’s return, Each day tears fall into the roses’ urn Replacing evaporating water with Salt that burns the shoots of love.
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