Of your heart
Is the symbol
Of love...
Perhaps
Is because
When we love
We bleed
Inside
Red like a rose
That cuts our hands
And yet
We insist
In carrying
Her
While her thorns
Encrust
Into our hands
Red...
Love is red
And we bleed
To death
For it...
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Do you see His work?
When you look around And smile at the beauty of a bright sunny sky When you hear birds singing on the trees Or tiny butterflies Working...
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