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Yellow rose, when you first bloomed,

There were thorns filling your vase.

The chance at a greenhouse is what I assumed.

Well, that was not the case.

At first I was content with you;

Admired you, and kept you close to my heart.

But soon your perfumed scent turned sour.

I guess I had known it from the start.

Though, it did not matter either way.

You have never belonged to me.

To change that there is nothing I can say,

And now I clearly see

That I was always just keeping a thorny stem,

But I love you still, and yes, I loved you then.



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