Sickly field of washed roses
Laying under a rainbow of bleach
Blooming, Leeching
Off fields of Hathway Steel
You're radiant, pink, free
Leaving a halo around your presence
With gradient leaves and sharp thorns
I watch your dance
You're better than the others
Louder than the rest
I hold onto you
In thought alone
Knowing that one day
I'll come back
When all the white fields have faded
And harvest is near
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