A White Rose Poem by RIC BASTASA
A White Rose
you tell her, death does not exist, and she says, she knows,
she had been dead, if only you cared enough to know. she will answer,
your handkerchiefs are all ironed, and they are all kept
well folded in the drawer.
she says she misses something.
just a white rose.
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4/24/2024 5:51:02 AM # 1.0.0.1119
