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November 6, 2012
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The sweet flower drops into sleep,
to dream of times when you don't weep.

When it wakes with dew-drop face,
it stands tall in its place.

Wishing for the time of love,
it tilts its neck to up above.

Falls in the end to hidden crown,
dreams and hopes go tumbling down.

And from the ash of broken dreams,
a young child happy screams.

A little bud appears, so small,
to grow in beauty for one and all.

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