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I am May 10
An invisible little angel,
Fighting a cruel war—
When she reached for flowers,
She got thorns underneath.

When she thought it was fresh grass,
She found stone, polished like green.

When she needed the scent of air,
Mixed with roses and jasmines,
She got a storm instead.

And when she wished for angels to play with—
She got a devil, constantly chasing her.
The world is ironic isn't it ?

— The End —