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From sunray
Till the cold in Autumn.
Tears in May,
With the heat of the moon's June.
The stars,
And teary crescent eyes,
Lost from the scars,
Blinking as fireflies.
To the rosy cheeks,
Down to your broken chin.
Pain sneaks,
Into florid skin.
Perhaps the dawn speaks,
And Pisces born;
To pick some roses
With a thorn.
That one great thorn.
