when rose red was in her prime, her gardens were considered beautiful, wild and tantalizing. she spoke volumes just simply by how her numberous fountains always had the crystaline blue waters, clear and deep. or by how the roses always bloomed in the rich full colours of reds, whites, yellows, and pinks. she was an inspiration to poets who walked the gravel pathways thru her trailing gardens, large and powerful in their own right, the birds always seemed to stay clear of rose red herself but along certain places of her gradens they reined supereme. in the sping time they were at their height but as seasons progressed the ice glittered ovr the fountains bases, and ice trimmed the glass windows on all sides of the building. when winter ends again the spring is renewed at rose red, and the pattern starts again.

welcome to the gardens, we reserve this place for poets and writers in search of ideas and critizism, and open chats. help each other out, please. and respect each other please.

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