A Poet Is Like a Flower
Blossomed to her peak.
We delight in her beauty
Sparkling charming hats!
She followed the sun.
Sensitive and observant.
Taking lots of notes.
Her unique fragrance
remains in our memory.
Poetry her gift.
Her pollen traveled,
creating delicious fruits.
Touch many others.
Not shamed of her thorns.
Nor of her fragility.
Was her real self.
Before, withering.
She was able to break free.
Now, she is reborn.
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