The Rose

A single rose,
On a mountain high.
Silently waiting,
As the wind blows by.
Ripping at the petals,
Like razor sharp knives.
Fending away,
Everything with love and life.
Enduring the pain,
Night after night.
Patiently waiting,
Through the morning light.
Knowing that in time,
Another rose will join in.
And together they will stand,
Against the relentless wind.
On a mountain high,
Sits a single rose.

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