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A Crushed Flower

 I held a flower in my hand,
Its colors were alive and grand.
I decide to crush out its worth,
And give unto it a new birth.
The flower is mangled in death,
It has no beauty and no breath.
    If I could bring back the hour,
    I'd not dishonor the flower.

ŠNovember 30, 2016 / Jerry Pat Bolton
Written by standingmyground
Published
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