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What If The Tables Were Turned
Once like a flower
you picked me at bloom.
You admired my beauty, my smell,
the delicacy of my frame.

You're eyes I fell in love with.

Your hands, solid and firm,
as they held me at root.

but once I began to rither,
I sensed it and saw your look.
Disappointment filled your eyes.
I read you like an open book.

Anticipating your next step,
I felt the free fall as I fell from your grip.



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