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I'm Dyeing a White Rose Black
I’m dyeing a white rose black.
Such a pretty, perfect flower it was.
Too perfect compared to me.
I’m dyeing a white rose black.
But my fingers and eyes and heart are stained,
And yet, nobody will see.
I’m dyeing a white rose black.
Nothing could ever reverse such a crime.
A black rose this rose will be.
poem
by
Mary Cieslak
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