A dying rose has character that beauty cannot fake. It has weathered, and still stands Sweet anong the dying grass. I would not turn my eye at a man with softer skin, in places where a model would be rippled and defined. Sweet pudginess, it's comforting. It makes the world seem nice. To know not everyone has legs of silk, And everything precise. When I see the elderly, it always makes me smile. They have beauty undefined in magazines and "style" I do not care what people say. I stand behind my say. That sweet are those who may not be. attractive in "that way." A beat up car, or mismatched clothes, or dead leaves in the grass. Make me feel much more content than those with too much class. A dying tree, a murky stream. They're beautiful to me. Sweet imperfections.. to some contradict the way things ought to be. But oh to behold... tarnished gold. or a weathered wedding ring. It is sweet as sugar, pure and white. and oh shall my heart sing. Sing of the old. Not of the new. Sing of those who've lived. Look through the world. in a softer eye... and you shall see as I. The sweetness of a dying rose. is heaven...undefined.Birth sign: Aries
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