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Deep in thought,
A man strolls down a winding pathway.
Suddenly, he stops.
His huge hand reaches out
To pick a single, red rosebud
Emerging from a blossoming rosebush;
The fragile rosebud,
Its petals just birthing
From their green cocoon,
Is temporarily stunned
By the pain of severance;
"You are mine.
I will not let your petals
Be tossed about,
By the tenuous winds of time
Or be thrown onto the waters of the world."
The man holds the rosebud carefully
In the palm of his hand,
Gazes at it tenderly
And carries it home,
Gently enfolding it
Within his long fingers,
Protecting it from harm's way;
He places it in the cool water of a rose bowl.
Perilously, the rose bud perches,
Still in shock;
Its options are plain,
To live or die;
To surrender or to sink;
The rosebud relaxes,
Slowly rising to the top,
Gradually outstretching its petals,
It floats,
Awakening fully like a water lily,
Content in its domain;
"Your beauty shall endure forever;
Your fragrance will rise
Into the recesses of my mind,
Forever, you shall be enshrined.
You are no dud.
War is such a waste of time.
Tearing down, only to rebuild."



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