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la-Dejah Fowler

“Blankets me as if I had fur growing out of my skin

The ink sings a soft smooth gentle lullaby

His words are reflecting off of his heart

Reflecting off of him like a mirror

As the sun scorches the small delicate rose cries a loud cry to the sky
For Its color is falling off as each cell evaporates

For it is the only thing that can save it

The sky in reply hushes and cooes the delicate rose

As it pours its glory on each pettle

And takes its hand and lifts the head of the rose for it had hung in sorrow but it is now to be brought back to life