Ring-a-ring o’ roses,

twisted tight
thorns of hate
argue the fruit
call it fate

A pocket full of posies,

collected from
silent vault
chase the guilt
ignore the fault

A-tishoo! A-tishoo!

silent I
denying wrong
this shallow frame
breaks the song

We all fall down.

then raising eyes
I see his face;
there’s priceless, costly,
fearsome grace.

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NaPoWriMo — Day Eight:  Poets have been writing about flowers since, oh, the dawn of time. So today,  add your own poem to this long tradition, by finding a flower, and versifying in its honour. 

My goodness.  I began with a rose.  And this came out.  We all fall down!  🙂

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