Riiver and I in the Gardens of Verona

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Roses.

Roses have thorns,

Lilacs make me sneeze,

Daffodils are far too basic.

I would despise,

The memory of us,

If I were to look like a fool.

And, it would,

Be a shame,

To despise any memory,

Of you.


I do not,

Dream of you, 

At night.

More over,

About you.

The soft whispers of rain,

On petals of silk.

The melodies of dew leaves,

The stories of trees.

Falling slowly,

Into a pit of,

Stars.

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