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CasiDia Aug 2020
If I were a stone I would not believe
that the medow looks after the rose
To be harded is to be made muted
any stone that blackens will not shine
In my heart of hearts I know this truth
that freedom is made from aching hearts
who sigh beneath the fullest moons
If sweetness is a weakness then think of me
as the lonely rose hidden by the tall grasses
I have thrived where others would not survive.

— The End —