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She was his purest rose.
One so full of life and beauty.
Which then had suddenly,
Gone through the absolutes of agony.
She began to dry up, wilt away in an instant.
He gave her his all, never becoming distant,
and although his hands were her fertilizer
And his heart was burning on fire for her,
He simply could not provide what she was longing
And he'd wonder, hopelessly, if his rose would ever be the same, blossomed symbol of love, again.

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