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Gardener, Wilding and Weed

That one blossomed in the garden Joyous as could be She, untouched by man and weather, An envy to see.

She was one spring, Sought by this gardener with care One who bent down on his knee To lift her upright with his hands bare.

He picked out his hat in summer-time To enjoy sunshine by her fragrant side And she in turn would turn unto him her hue Kissed by a man of this kind.

But like any man was he As the days grew cold He wouldn’t show up anymore She peeped at the gate while her spirit grew sore

She thought to herself ‘Now you leave me to the nature You are not there when I cry You would not know when my life freezes You would not know when I die.’

To comfort the blossom’s wilting leave Crawled by a sneaky weed. She leaned for comfort Unaware of the thief encroaching the dirt.

Running out of air She cut her own shoot She had to leave her bed Leaving behind traces of her root.

She would go by the wildling Who plucked her when he was young I will die young, she thought, at least in the arms of one Who would hold me till I am done.

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