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Hannah Rose Bicknell


Romance


Red, red rose, that grows and grows,

Over the weeds and over throws,

Many an ugly flower to bloom,

And true yet the red rose as rare,

No lover has picked her, for to care,

Can't she see her beauty does not last? And soon,

Every flower will shine,

but no one will see the ugly red rose vine.

Submitted: Monday, March 05, 2012
Edited: Monday, March 05, 2012

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