It stood with effulgence Wrapped in a red robe With petals showing the different shades of its life Its prepotency was like an illusion Gregarious yet so stoic Its beauty was such that the sun rose early to shower gold on it Darkness waited to put its warm blanket over the sleeping bliss But it still looked immured which disturbed me a lot So finally I decided to ask “So supernal is your love and you know you are loved as well, then what is it beauty that you are scared to go ahead? ” It replied as if revealing its benison “I am born, born with a curse” “Beauty is what, what you can see but you are unaware, unaware of the thorn which can prick thee”
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