A single damaged rose
Waits to be picked,
Waiting outside castle walls
Beautifully it sits.
Though charred, there remains
An eerie beauty,
Captures you almost
Like a line of poetry.
What wine-filled memories
Those burnt walls must hold,
How many fingers
Must have traced this rose.
Oh, Sweet chateau
I shall drink to you,
For only the best glass of red
Within your walls were brewed.
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