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A Winter Rose

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In times of war you grow a rose,
Not for friends
But foes.

You show them friendship,
you show them love,
yet deep down,
you wish to kill the dove.

You show them beauty,
They hold their scorn,
Tha is until they feel a thorn.

Anger is born,
And alliance is torn,
And when the fighting is good and done,
It is not time for fun,
But time for all to morn.

Much is lost,
Little is gained,
It sets a frost,
That can never be tamed.

But summer will be on the way,
And peace will dawn,
Even the rse may go away,
But the thorn shall never be gone.



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