Today as I walked in the rain, I saw a rose that moved to and fro with the impact of drops 
upon its petals.
As I viewed this beauty, I knew that soon it would be severed from its stem to grace the whim of 
some fickle beauty, or to dot an eye – a boutonnière for some princely charmer.
Or perhaps it would be centered on some table for a hearty meal.
But, for the time being, the drops ran between the petals like rivers, and fell to the ground.
I fancied them tears.
 
 

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