You think that I made it well,
When did not choose one's red- roses fall,
They loudly sing too and will laugh on the morning.........
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Roses really are a medicine to be used for dreaming Tsira - - - lovely warm poem and 10 + + from Fay....xx
When they fall, perhaps stack is rearrangement of the beam moons pink thinly veiled in see through smile..iip