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I picked a flower near the sidewalk. Placed it on her hair, with outmost care. I told her, never listen to all of them. My pretty dear, reject your fear. The next day, I picked another flower. Pinned it in her chest, where it looks best. I told her, be brave my angel. You may fall down, but don't ever frown. I stringed some flowers. A pretty necklace, giving her such grace. I told her, you are my precious. Head up high, not letting out a sigh. And one day, I picked a flower. Placed it on grave, the last one I gave. You are now in heaven, my love. I promise you I'll try, I won't ever cry.
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Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 7:09 AM UTC
The Story Of The Flowers
I picked a flower near the sidewalk. Placed it on her hair, with outmost care. I told her, never listen to all of them. My pretty dear, reject your fear. The next day, I picked another flower. Pinned it in her chest, where it looks best. I told her, be brave my angel. You may fall down, but don't ever frown. I stringed some flowers. A pretty necklace, giving her such grace. I told her, you are my precious. Head up high, not letting out a sigh. And one day, I picked a flower. Placed it on grave, the last one I gave. You are now in heaven, my love. I promise you I'll try, I won't ever cry.
alaska-young
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Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 7:09 AM UTC
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