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The Dying Rose

Born as a symbol of beauty.
Like a fresh, red rose bud in the brink of spring.
Growing into youth.
Still a fresh smile.
Yet, something has changed.
Several years go by.
Change more significant.
A symbol of all happiness, slowly disappearing.
The world’s problems deteriorate this innocent mind.
She is worn a little, drawn back.
As years go by she becomes worse.
Like a dying rose,
Losing colour,
Losing touch.
Lost like many others in a world of fear.
Reaching out.
But no ones there.
She becomes frail to life.
Hope lessens.
Her body weakens.
Her mind insane.
Once a symbol of beauty, now non-existent.
Feelings are gone.
She has closed her eyes.
This beautiful red rose has died.