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A single red rose
among a multitude of thorns
A lifetime of craving acceptance
All to be returned by alienation
For she is but one, and they are many
Her quaint and dainty manner
Is hidden by the obscurity of their roughness and
She has all but relinquished her own identity,
Submitting to their ways
For she is but one, and they are many

But suddenly she blooms
And a new age is born
Away with the roughness
Away with the harshness
Away with the filthiness
In with the aroma
with the radiance
and with the eloquence
All that is radiant
For she is one, and they are but thorns...



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