Your rose, in a
line with others will
pine for you.
Its sisters and
brothers, too, will
wait for you by
the gate. In
the sun it’s the
colour of a French
wine, claret in
daylight and beams:
‘She is mine’.
Towards the end of
this season, there is
a reason for the
rose to remain in
bloom: by the gate
it waits and will
see you soon.
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