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Beneath the forest's canopy, the bluebells glimmer in quiver,
Dancing on a carpet of blue, flowers that lead in the ether.
A bass clef fluttering of nectar's verse, they open secret trails,
And quietly, tiny creatures carve their path in the azure.

Their scent, a hidden murmur, is a whispered echo from the sky,
They envelop in dustings of blue, delicate as a gentle sigh.
They bow their heads in the spring rain, like a wounded queen,
Rejuvenating the world anew, under a weeping kiss that flows and streams.

A silent spell over shadow and time lays its dominion,
A lively sea of hues, riding on currents of breeze.
Gently, elegantly, arching above the earth's stars,
The breath of their love builds a world in a rare and divine ode.

Nature claims back its splendor in the prelude of the hot summer,
Setting down on earth a writing that quickly passes and is lost.
The delicate bluebell of the sky makes spring resonate subtly,
At the bitter end of existence, the flowers open their path towards the ephemeral.

Thus remains the fabric of flowers, a fountain of colorful dreams ever-flowing,
Eternally embroidered on the green field, leaving in the heart a calling and longing.
Blue are the days of dreaming and blue remain the waters of nostalgia gently rising,
Until autumn gathers them in story, in the interludes of love.

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