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The Dandelion means long-lasting happiness and youthful joy.
Clarrise was more real than reality in a way that made her seem to be above life and reality itself. She was in the world, but not of the world. Her body was on the ground, but her head was somewhere between the clouds and stars. What she said was always authentic. She was ethereal, softer than the earth could know. She had the confidence of a person who not just knew people would like them but would be unconcerned if they didn't. She possessed a heavenly grace that carried an aura of a free soul wherever she went. In a world often filled with corruption and arrogance, she was a light that darkness had to surrender. She was strong in a way that the dismal and iniquitous world could not break, yet delicate, sweet, and celestial in a way that was too pure to be tainted. Her soul was free and unable to be tamed. Her angelic presence radiated a love of something more than people could give her. She was youthful, carefree, and curious as if she drank every drop of the bright and colorful essence of childhood. Yet, she was mature, thoughtful, and outspoken. Her mind was a stream of thoughts and stories that ran freely through her mouth without a second thought as to why.  Her peace was that of white, sheer curtains letting a slightly sea-tinted breeze of fresh air through a window revealing pink-blushed clouds. She was to some degree, undescribable.
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𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓒𝓵𝓪𝓻𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓮, 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓻𝓲𝓿𝓪𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝔀𝓪𝔂 𝓘 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾
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drops of crystal dew
slide off emerald leaves
plants awaken and rejoice
the sun peeks out shyly
a fresher, crisper, cooler air
it seems no one else has breathed
something about the early dawn
makes me feel accompanied
and at peace
spring morning sunshine nature
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The sun begins to dip below the skyline
Orange starts to tint the sunshine
Shadows stretch in shades of black
And the air cools as we ride back
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When people say "lost in a book"
few can know what it means
few are given the gift
to walk within the scenes.
To "get into a book" only takes a few pages
to step inside
and leave your body behind
and wish to never find your way back again.
To read is different to readers
those who have the gift
they do not remember concepts or words
no,
they remember where they have been.
A thick spine of brown
edges of gold
stories passed down
forever re-told.
The book looked at me
and I looked back
wondering who would read
something like that
Now the thick book
sits in my room
it tells me the secrets
of stories once doomed
Snow white's evil witch
was tortured to death
dancing over coals
until her last breath
Red riding hoods ferocity
was never shown
the wolf's stomach cut open
and by her filed with stones
Why don't they tell these?
I do not know
but next time a book seems to whisper
please, listen close.
Complete Fairy Tales, by the Brothers Grimm
Free-flowing wavy hair
seemingly kissed by the sea air
Sweet smells of the perfume she wears
seem to follow her everywhere.
Wide eyes show she's the curious
olive skin shows she loves the sun
ink-stained fingers say she loves to write
above her there is none.
She wears a crown atop her head
a one which no one else can see
everyone can tell she wears it
I wish the crown was worn by me.
Brown hair with strands of gold
hazel eyes like emerald pearls
rosy cheeks and ringlet curls
she is envied by all the girls.
She wears jewelry
necklaces of gold
one says her name
or so, I'm told.
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