Eternal Garbage

Flowers are for foes not friends

Who wish to pick from a bush of thorns

Than be thrown into the arms of love

As one with and without their head

For flowers speak of death, not everlasting

Which the soul cannot contend

For it and its mate are forever

In this life, in the next, and in the end.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/9wo85i/comment/e9mielm

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