The boy would stop to smell the rose
When he grew tall enough to reach
Abrading his nose upon a petal frayed
While he suffocated on the redolence
Rooted from his rafter for the dearest of life
Suspended by its thorny vine, the hanger hung
It was ever there, of his being a part, apart
No other flowerbed was so enticing
No other garden welcomed him so
art: gallow.. by Peterio
*07.18.18.07.20
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