When Death so Beautifully Clothes

If silently, all tenderly
the roses open,despite the choke
of wispy vines, then perfectly
its spiral thorny arm, its sheath
safeguards imponderable beauty.

Most absolutely, as rapidly
the petals blacken, crumbling so
like feather-dust of moths, then blows
its salmon colored specks, its cloth
onto the nakedness of autumn fields.

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