Poetry

I am the morning rose

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I am the morning rose.

At dawn, I stand erect.

The breeze carries the scent of my dreams.

My petals form a thousand smiles,

the ones Hafez once wrote about.

I will gently wither. I am patient.

My petals will crumble

and may be used to make rose sherbet.

I will then melt on the tongue of children 

and become laughter.

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