A blossom rose,
Before it could enjoy the warmth of the sun,
Before it could feel the touch of a breeze,
Was mercilessly broken off from its branch,
Got mixed with mud in the ground, shattered.
Its sweet scent was still in the air,
Its color still red.
Maybe some affectionate young man
Once wished to offer this rose to his beloved bride?
by Ting Yong
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