April 2011
“On the third day he took me to the river He showed me the roses and we kissed And the last thing I heard was a muttered word As he stood smiling above me with a rock in his fist On the last day I took her where the wild roses grow And she lay on the bank, the wind light as a thief As I kissed her goodbye, I said, ‘ All beauty must die’ And lent down and planted a rose...
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