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Poetry
Top voted Poetry
#431391voted by our readers
By Anonymous
Death is a flower. With a breath of life, it begins to bloom. But as the seasons go by it begins to wither. And with its last breath of life, it leaves our side.
Death is a flower. With a breath of life, it begins to bloom. But as the seasons go by it begins to wither. And with its last breath of life, it leaves our side.