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Needful

23 Nov

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And with spring, comes a rose,
blossomed o’er silk repose;
tho’ unshed, deep in mourn,
bears sorrow with each thorn.

And with dawn, comes the sun,
unsung will ‘til day’s done;
yet while played, as fine wine,
we bathe in liquid shine.

And with love, comes our fawn,
that with song, heard ‘til dawn;
winsome flesh, our hearts dance,
full of joy, sweet romance.

And with kiss, comes her hand,
she is borne, as is man;
now with pride, wedded trust,
bound thru’ life, as we must.

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Posted by on November 23, 2015 in My Poetry

 

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