That rose, behind the wall,
It grew beside a lake,
In a fertile foreign land.
See! Here it seems so fake.
When transplanted here,
Its leaves, petals fell.
Now, prickly naked thorns
Is all that one can tell.
I agree it will thrive,
Much better if roots hold,
The question is: Will they?
Isn�t it now kind of old?
I reckon it as a phrase,
Out of the passage taken.
That: Empty and bereft,
This: Forlorn, forsaken.
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