Not a hose,
Nor the old rose.
In the corner of the room,
It blooms.
Red petals, Not blue.
Call out in distress,
To the Phazaiyll,
It doesn't reply...
Falling down,
his van hits a ditch.
It draws the suspension,
from under its latch.
He lies in the ditch.
Untouched.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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