Three Roses and a Thorn

Three roses and a thorn
A bouquet of beauty and pain
Arranged by a vassalage of memories
Spread across the twisted stems of a generation
Deformed by the freezing winds of winter

Three roses and a thorn
Plucked from the ether of your womb
Like celestial orbs condensed
In the vacuum of cold dark space
Saplings pruned by the shears of time

Three roses and a thorn
Triplets of satin petals blushed pink
With sweet nectar's embrace
One thistle keen to the touch
Stands before you with open arms

Three roses and a thorn
A bouquet of your youthful dreams
Withering away in the blight of darkness
Suffocated with a disease of memory
I now feel the pain of the thistle

Three roses and a thorn
Cradled in your nurturing vase
Until the petals slowly wilt brown
Wafting softly to your side
The thorn stands alone and cries

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