Once again the petal wilted,
a feral close to the fairy-tale telling.
No burden of fresh tears,
would suffice to brim the sky.
We stroll back into the garden,
among the trees, the blossoms.
Besotted in the scents,
we rollick with the senses.
If only for a while to see
the beauty in remembering.
Not only to remind us
what was once brilliant.
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