Stopping not to wave a goodbye,
Their honeyed flips aren't heard,
No thrush songs do echo anywhere.
The dew presses on harder,
The snow piles on my tender petals,
The doom is near,
Winter is here.
He has come to let me down,
He unlaces my life,
I submit and fall apart,
I lie cold beside my sole sepal.
Though I breathe my last,
The road I know doesn't end here,
Nor does the dream die,
The fragrance will never fade...
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