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Rose petals fall to the floor
the brilliant red, too bold to ignore.
Each one falls at it's own pace,
slowly descending, it's not a race.
Each flower's got different petals,
the shape the size, the way they settle.
Some roses are red, some are white,
some can be dark, and some can be bright.
Sometimes they are given, sometimes they are not,
but when they're recieved, they mean a lot.
I pick off each petal, all one by one,
wishing he could see, how far I've come.
Each member of the service, lays them at his feet,
as I try hard, to smile as I greet.
They can't understand, the hurt or the pain,
all condolences, are in the flowers they've lain.
I lost him in battle, shot down by a gun,
each petal falls, as he had once done.