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Some dream of becoming a calcified old rose on someone’s mantle, a crushed sweet thing in a closet, or even a pot pouri.

But not I.
No, I would rather be blown away from the garden in full bloom, to make an elegant exit in the lush splendor of my youth and beauty.

Yes I would rather dance away on the wind’s sigh at my most ravishing, right before the first petal shrivels, right before the sun sets on the summer.

To be cast up by the wind and carried out to sea at the dawn of autumn, what a dignified end that would be.

What a sad sight to see, is she
Who meets her ruinous end with withered leaves and drooping stem.