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“I can see some of the roses still blooming in my mother's garden. Brown on the edges and bright in other colors, they open and unfold, their petals drooping downward, dying just as their lives have begun.” — Laura Nowlin
I can see some of the roses still blooming in my mother's garden. Brown on the edges and bright in other colors, they open and unfold, their petals drooping downward, dying just as their lives have begun.