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Early Flower Dying From the Hail

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Why must you hide behind your bangs
And look down at your shoes

Why must you cower in a crowd of people
And let them believe that you’re not their equal

Why must you be so delicate and frail
Like an early flower dying from the hail

Why must you stutter when you speak
Even if you know people will call you weak

Why must you always sit alone
And virtually be unknown

Why do you remain an early flower dying from the hail?




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