That rose bathed in lamplight 
must be mine.
Where once it was so deeply fine
and tightly gathered,
now, it drops past center
loose and free
of what once was fiercely hoped 
that it might be.
Now it simply is.
Light and dark relax together,
settle, gathered on each petal,
comfortably cupped,
cradled, silvered and hushed,
no longer hidden,
yet bathed in gold soft light

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