There Treads a Nightingale
I think I have
A bunch with love,
Flowers sweet;
From a fair, slim one.
And though she treads
With the nightingales,
Her thoughts focus;
The features sharp.
There would be many
Who would bring a flower,
“American Heritage” is the rose;
I send for her.
But will I know,
Of the flush
In my new found
Friend.
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