November snowed along the the May born grove
white alabaster washed the ground
where dark guardians stood their roots
feather-downed flowers fell, white like lilies
tickling my face as they landed
my cheeks already pooled like bloomed rose
... and that's about it.
. . . . . posted:||1:00 AM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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