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A crimson bloom amongst the buds
It’s magic hue caught my eye
A pretty rose yet untouched
Under the open sky
Silently played the hand of fate
Smote my hand, my luck
For while I nursed the prick of thorns
Else the rose did pluck
I know not of the stranger
Nor the vase it fill
But the fragrance of that rose
Fades not from memory still
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