The weather is cold; the feelings are dulled, in the vast empty existence that adds nothing to my perception, there are very few spectacles that can seize my interest. The Autumn Rose Oh how the Autumn Rose grows, in this desolate, chilled planet, yet the Rose wilts from the cold air it once called friend…how so so sad must the wheels of fate turn, I only pray my voice lacks this curse…. And my little Roses continue to grow…for one gem in my heart…the spectacles grow…as I walk…continuing to stride…in my little garden…. I call my own….