by Nancy Snipper
How is it that the red rose
How is it that the red rose
Robed in petals silk and soft
Can sprout a thorn
Whose pointed part pricks the heart
and plucks out youth
A peace once born,
so sweet, so soft, so unadorned
and coils it into crusty age
that caws and crawls around a skeletal cage
of a once red rose?
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