Тhe Red Rose

She dies ... With every explosion do not rage in my soul passions, but I saw in this trembling rose dimensional anti-contrasts. I picked it up with a hidden desire to experience the dead odor, unaccountably hidden scent, discovered before the white iris. And they dropped tears salty, reviving the colors for a moment, shivering to blood injured, moistened my hands, both. She was dying the rose slowly and understood words, tongues, it was time, not long ago was looking at many pupils. Just a moment, he spoke for a moment, strange words told me then: "There are many withered people, like me do not die forgotten! " I was quiet at this explosion and raging smoldering passions, and the red rose passed in the measured anticontrast.