no more roses they said and felt significantly it must be so no more roses to sow or sell or make spells and cast reverently into the skies no more roses they said and felt utterly so that this must be the last of the straws at the bottom of the cask no more roses they asked
not even for a coat to wrap around my chilly bones and cleave fretfully behind the roads not one they asked not even a petal to make a bed not even a thorn to make a train to ride away from the snow no more roses not even a stem to set hopefully in this glass not even one nor should ever we cry or dream or hope
to rend them from the tomes that these flowers once so honestly frozen and callously held between fickle fingers shallow yet true and feel even outwards grasp blindly sincerely and clasp and dream of roses
in fields and sheets and oceans of red and yellow and oh so many facets of those gentle haloed friends those lost those lamented those longed for oh so yearned so needed so pleaded
they there on the steps out on the bitter street never sweet not any more for no more roses cascade no more roses remain no more roses pour ambitiously out from the fettered dew drenched roads and wish on delicious lips on wetted waiting whispering lips skip out these words of plea that never would these unfortunate fools ever for even one moment have even ever believed that for even ever not even one more moment could there be not nearly even one trace one trickle one sweet scented sumptuous red alluring rose.
"??no more roses??"