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The freezing mountains of snow are almost gone The landscape is fresh, moist, and almost green The beautiful black birds have already set the tone
When the dreamer’s dream, where do they go? It’s not that field of yellow flowers. There are no happy endings in this story. To dream is to lie. To lie is to sin.
Pink petals and Bright green leaves Gold-brown pinestraw crunches underfoot; It's spring. The sun shines down on me,
Come closer, a strong flower feel your thorns against my skin, fragile touch to the strong winds, reach for your strength in each touch, such grace with each deadly look.
The sunflowers bend. They break their own backs to shine; maybe they want more.
Crystal Water and Clear skies...
the garden is overgrown by weeds, the garden would be lovely without them, the flowers would be able to be free, to be able to breathe untammed roots and stems weave throughout
Each thorn digging into my scalp the loudness of the blaring red roses