As she walked through a garden of roses
a thorn took piece of her dress… Her arms were not a match for the force in a tiny thorn.
The more she tried to drag her dress out of its grasp the deeper the tear.
She had to keep walking… She tore out a piece of her dress and left it as a flag… Perhaps the next traveler will walk here more collected than she was…
A flag amid a garden of roses…
convosfromwithin 