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webhosting |
The red stemmed roses
stand to attention again.
She arranges them.
Petals of Iris,
and Lily of the Valley,
share the sickled vase.
With some undue care,
she deadheads and prunes a rose.
Gently massages.
The swollen buds thrive.
But in time, they too must die.
For the good of all.
It's what must be done.
There shall be no attachment.
Karl Marx would be proud.
One drop marks the loss.
This, her favourite flower.
Soft. Our Lady's Tears.