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Seven Roses
Upon an old cottage window-sill
Within a white chipped vase
Seven pale roses droop,
Pensively looking at the stars;
The Pleiades, the “Seven Sisters”
Burn faintly up in the sky
And cast just a little light
Upon roses about to die,
Yet, those radiant glowing stars
Stirred a warmth within
The heart of each one
Like a pulse beneath ones skin
Animating a strong urge,
A need to often look to
Stars of a deep blue fire;
Thus, that night they pulled through.
Now they share an affinity
Not previously felt before,
And a keener sense of purpose
Their influence did restore;
A fresher, greener hue
Pervades each crinkled leaf
And no longer is there black gloom
Or an air of outright grief;
Now each uplifted head
Seems to show a glow
Of utter contentment
The kind that loved ones know.
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