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Often the mind thinks
The fragrance of love is like a rose
Beautiful when in view
Fragrant when kissed
But so the fingers grasped the stem
The thorn had stuck its fangs
So one day
Fragrant love is no longer fragrance perfume More to the fogger dew in the morning
Fresh air that stopped before the heat
Then at least not say 'funny' that this is the fragrant love of the breeze when the season ends semi sprained
So it's named
Love is like a rose
That for a moment memabʋkan
Then hurt.
)
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