Misted Flowers

Raindrops hang from the rose
shimmering as jewels do.
It is beyond the reach
of these hands that would be cut.
A breeze combs the flowers,
mist swallows distant views.
Dreams fade with the morning,
sun cuts through the shade.
No thing to bind the heart to
but the jewelled rose petals,
misted flowers I cannot bear to cut,
fingers scarred with thorns.
Beneath the southern clouds
wind breathes with rain.

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