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Rated: · Poetry · Arts · #1616029

The growth of the Cold

Cold, as I always was,
Reject the flame so charming,
Never realize so nice to be warm,
Desperately in need of the sparkling red.

Cold, as I am discarding,
No longer frozen is my hidden self,
Let free the repressed spirit,
Zealously flies up to the highest blue


Cold, as I never would be,
Shelters all with peaceful white,
Showers wonderful grace in turmoil,
Soothens the soil into its deepest soul .
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