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A Valley Rose
In a valley a wild rose grows, it is a rare rose the valleys people know.
Rainbow colors and thorny vines it climbs the fences and circles the pines.
It is the last you will find.
You will not possess its flawless kind.
Come witness the opening bud, it reaches for sunlight.
A gentle rose that blesses sight.
What flowers sway in peaceful days where nature sweetly plays.
the petals releasing a pleasant scent.
A piece of beauty well spent.
A rain of warm waters wash away the petals from where they lay.
Raindrops sweet caress has filled our Maker's glass, rare roses
Of warmth, of the vine, I watch your delicate heart shine.
Birds sit in trees and dine to the treasure of the time.
Walk this valley of the rose, a place were solitude grows.
When winter winds begin to stir in the land of pleasantries occur,
The seasons are well endured.
The surrender of the land rests willingly in His mighty hand.
The valley soulfully stands in his gracious plan.
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