Mother Nature

April 26, 2014
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A blossom in her,
Beautiful as angels were;
Never met with frowns.

The crescent moon lay,
Her blue saphire eyes makes day;
She is the sun-rise.

Her hair hits her hips,
And red rose petals her lips;
She is a red rose.

A chime her sweet voice,
But she never makes her choice;
Cause she is nature.

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