I look at the Orange Rose
That was given to me
A long time ago
There are indentations
And marks
From being old and handled
So I pluck the petals off
The weaker it gets,
The more I pluck off
The less the flower becomes
When it is down to the last few petals,
I notice something
They never wither
They never wither away
The flower used to be strong
But now it is weak
From the abuse of being used
But
No matter what happens
There still will be a little left
A little left to keep you smiling
A little left to keep you happy
A little left to keep you living
The Orange Rose can never die
It will live on
Even if it is trampled on
I am the one to have to keep it living
Give it some water
Give it some hope
Give it light to feed on...
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