When You Walk On The
Petals Of Roses
Scattered On The Way,
It Spills The Nostalgia
In My Memory Lane,
The Crimson Flowers
Thank The Hands
That Plucked Them.
And The Roses,
Still Silent On The Branches
Resting With Thorns,
Their Noblest Foe,
Are Jealous Of The Scattered Lot
As They Wish Dearly
The Same Fate
Why
Further Read In Caption ЁЯСЗ ЁЯСЗ ЁЯСЗ
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