prithee,
do not let the rosebuds wither,
whether the weather be summer or winter;
let neither rays nor blizzards consume
the dewdrops dancing atop the tender blossoms.
should the flowers wane and drop
crispily arid atop the morning blades,
so shall my tender, fragile heart stop
and shriek away to the frigid hades.
tend to them till they bloom in full
to whisper a moist and fragrant sigh
that breaks the silence of the azure dull
and welcomes the vibrant morning sky.
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