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The blue rose

Love is your name, whisper the sun,
through the moon would shine and a blue rose would grow,
the moon cries crimsom for the sun warmth,
in a cold night, as this blue rose cries for the moon,
"your soul is cold without the warmth of the sun".
Every early morn, the sun would meet the moon,
as she faded away into the stars,
he would plead into the wind,
"Love, I miss your evening stars"
and the sparrow would sing of his love,
she heard his plead,
and called. "you are my own"
A blue rose cried and the crimson fell.
A red rose stood before me, it became my story now.
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Poetry.com 4.3 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 3 reviews.
Lorraine Orr More than 1 year ago
straight and to the point
Pat Hunt 641 More than 1 year ago
well done very good write
Allan Molina More than 1 year ago
Enjoyed the different style of writing
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