A Flower Started To Wander
A flower started to wander,
Not Far from her homeland.
Earlier, she laid on my hand,
I recall her scented existence.
Then she came to my lips,
never nature tasted as sweet.
Before our eyes could meet,
The rose rested on your heart.
And now I cannot foretell,
If the blush masking your face,
Is the rose remaining trace
Or our love fresh blooming.
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