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The Gift Of Life
I pick a white rose,
full of dew drops,
fragrances of mountain breeze.
I place it in a small clear vase,
set it in my windowsill,
petals of fine silk.
I return later in the day:
no energy, petals curled,
the dead rose
awakens my fleeting life.
Our bodies wither and age,
the lively plant is precious
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