The rain returns

The rose plant sought and bought one time is dead and gone
Though the dull crimson stain of its buds still lives on
In unyielding memories more bitter than sweet
Uneffaced by tears, the grim mark of defeat

The rain which once left the roses to wither
On a chariot of clouds has returned hither
To heal the hurting wounds born from its neglect
And showers a bevy of flowers from the trees decked

On me

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