The mistaken god


If flower a god,
Mistake the possibility with throne
When overwhelmed by its beauty
And the rose is killed.

Business of good and bed
Transects equally,
When it falls off your had.
Ask the rose, is he hating his throne?
He isn't, if so one graze it takes
To fill the mouth of herbivores.

Fall upon the throne, bleed.
The drop of blood that flows
Will teach the value of throne
That how beautifully the buds are protected.

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