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Poetry
Top voted Poetry
#5191voted by our readers
By Anonymous
The roses bursts in red In the end, it darkens. It is dead. It rises up high from the fertile ground The same cycle around, around In the end, this cycle is something beautiful...
The roses bursts in red In the end, it darkens. It is dead. It rises up high from the fertile ground The same cycle around, around In the end, this cycle is something beautiful...
