I found a flower an odd little thing.
Growing between the cracks and the gravel,
in a path where wheels and feet do travel –
So exquisite, delicate, crimson and sparkling. ...
Remember, September with roses in bloom.
Summon October while death is a broom.
Tears mixed with blood, that’s Novembers doom.
And in December you were gone. - And I followed. ...
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