Lost

POETRY NEWS #4183
Date: 11/22/2012 at 10:08
From: Child of Tarah, Braeley Windsong-Concordia
To : Everyone
Subj: Lost

The dewdrops sizzle like fire,
silver petals wither beneath.
These roses, once beautiful,
sprout thorns which prick.

It's hard to breathe,
their cloying scent thick.
Each rose begs to be claimed,
but lost are those who fell-
those who fell for their trick.


Penned by my hand on the 3rd of Chronos, in the year 611 AF.