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Photo by Timur Kozmenko on Unsplash

The gates of her garden are left open to wanderers

They say she’s too friendly and she shouldn’t be so trusting

that matters of love are a waste of time

But that isn’t her

The roses died and bloomed

and dried out

They’ve been over watered,

pruned too early,

and forgotten,

But come spring they show their rosy pink faces

As if all those things

could have destroyed a blooming rose

-Saschia Johnson

Written by

A writer and sensitive realist who takes risks with the intention of progress

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