A rose is still a rose
As it loses fragrance.
Some will look upon it
Pluck it, sniff it,
and discard it to the ground.
"It has lost its purpose to me"
They justify their actions,
for they are human.
The rose smiles as it decays
To be part of the worm
And the bird that eats it.
To be part of the soil
that blankets our seeds.
To be part of the strength
Beneath our feet.
The rose forgives
For it knows
What vanity does not.
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