The White Rose of Grief

I stole it from her book
And kept it in mine
With a smile on her lips
During times of wine
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The pain of its thorns
Driving my blood
Have been lost in a Dream
of a beautiful theft

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Not more than a month
and it slipped away
waking me up
to respect destiny

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On my book of life
What is left is a print
That calls me far
To mourn what once was white
and now a scar