The Last Bloom
As if the wind gave out a gentle sigh,
A wisp of crimson dances in the fall as it wades through the sky.
A single rose with withering petals,
Resides below the tender whisper of dawn.
Seasons glide like a whisper gracefully etched in time.
A bloom that glows beyond the dark,
fragile, wild, and softly stark.
Beauty fades but leaves a spark.
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