Orphaned the infant petals from her muddy belly
Into the ample arms of steely-eyed winter
The hands of Fate played crochet with the princely petals
And poised the lovelies on twin lilies.
The bearded dragon puffed the petals into
martyrs- to a malice not native.
Bathed was the Dove, in soot.
The rose is not a rose and not a rose evermore.
As the clown shuns his white gloves for black,
May the dove shed her black coat for white.
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