Flowers for Doomsday

Roses for love, roses for lust,
simpler symbols have spawned worse fuss,
and truer chains than trust may rust.
Lilies for the survivors, as for the dead –
merely soft petals on spearheads,
trumpeting every spring – every spring,
when memories of fair seasons bring
the bud of rage at what has passed,
when all has gone that was meant to last
and they will grow – one, all,
they will grow green and tall
as pride grows long before the fall



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