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Years you spend



blowing shimmering whispered wishes

into the night

to be ensnared

in the web of the stars.


Wishing that

someone --

anyone --

would come and sweep you

off your feet,

no matter who,

or why, or when.


Within you blossoms

of beauty,

of worth,

would bloom beneath their touch,

opened by the

brush of their lips

so soft against your own.


And then, one day, that changes.

That dream, once brilliant, fades

and withers, outshone by

the steady rays of maturity.


And you realize

someone kind,

someone gracious,

who would walk a hundred miles

just to hold you


is what you deserve.


And on that day you see,

in rich

vivid hues,

your own blossoms

of beauty --

your own garden

of worth.

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