“Beauty is truth, truth beauty.” John Keats
You see one now and then –
A November rose with all its pedals still blazing in full glory.
It stands out against the dank and dreary ground
Stark as a beacon in the night.
It’s nature’s graceful last hurrah
Against the rising tide of time.
So, if you happen to chance upon one,
Tarry a while, and gaze upon its splendor
To appreciate the fleeting tragedy
Of this delicate, tremulous last stand,
For it is not unlike your own.
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