She stopped by the rose,
And he clung to her clothes,
She left but the sun still shone.
She returned to the garden,
To offer a pardon,
From his sentence of being alone.
But when she did linger,
The rose pricked her finger,
Her blood was a crimson tone.
"I'm sorry" he cried,
But she felt that he lied.
To the rose, heartbreak is known.
YOU ARE READING
A Collection Of Short Stories
RandomSomething to tide everyone over between my uploads. Short stories, poems, minor teasers for certain stories (but I won't say for which ones muahahaha) enjoy!
