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<< ? Poetic Voices # >>A boy observed a rose from sprout to splendor grow.
He smelled its scent and felt its thorn, and from this pain
arose his soul, profound and pure and with no care.
The sun was warm. The wind was cool. The clouds so white.
Completely free the boy would jump and laugh in play.
One day the rose withered and fell. The boy confused
refused to play and looked in vain for his delight.
And where his rose once grew, a dry thistle now stood.
Despair, anger and fear completely filled the boy.
He hung his head and cried until he could no more.
The sun was warm. The wind was cool. The clouds so white.
A boy observed a rose from sprout to splendor grow.
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