Roses can be liars. They say that they'll never wilt, they say their fragrance will abound forever. Truly they can bloom today and wilt tomorrow. They pour out their lovely odor but to rot sooner rather than later.
The thorns that dilapitate their image, their supreme beauty, they lie not, but show that they are ugly, yet willful and stay long after the roses have fallen. The remembrance of the rose is marred by the existence of the pricking thorns. A mere shadow of the former glory, the now brown petals lay lifeless on the earths floor, they boast no more. Their fragrance has deserted them, they rot alone, while the thorns mock from the twisted bush that once held so much, now so bare. Beauty fades but the shadow remains.
-Cedar Stormcloud
The thorns that dilapitate their image, their supreme beauty, they lie not, but show that they are ugly, yet willful and stay long after the roses have fallen. The remembrance of the rose is marred by the existence of the pricking thorns. A mere shadow of the former glory, the now brown petals lay lifeless on the earths floor, they boast no more. Their fragrance has deserted them, they rot alone, while the thorns mock from the twisted bush that once held so much, now so bare. Beauty fades but the shadow remains.
-Cedar Stormcloud
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