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Sunflower
In hues of crimson, these roses unfold, thorns glistening, tales of blood and bold. Violets, cerulean as the boundless sea, resilient 'midst floods, they dare to be free. A solitary sunflower, ablaze in golden hue, stands resplendent, an emblem of love true.
A symphony of feelings, orchestrated by a lovesick heart, each bloom chosen with care, a memory's work of art. Each petal, a moment; each stem, a cherished rhyme, a floral tapestry woven through the passage of time. A bouquet that breathes life into each fleeting day, whispers of sweet nothings, like tender words in May.
Yet one thorn-adorned blossom, it stood apart, a solitary yellow rose, the masterpiece of this heart. It symbolized her fervor, her beauty, and her strife, a paradox of sharpness, gentleness, and life. Amidst kisses of fervor and drops of sacrifice, they held on fiercely, as passion's flames entice.
He might not wear the florist's artistry's attire, but he's a connoisseur of thorns and love's undying fire. His grip, unwavering, through pain's tempestuous dance, for her, he'd face the thorns, take every loving chance. Beneath the cloak of darkness, as stars gleam from afar, their love stands as a beacon, transcending every scar.
In the tapestry of existence, through shadows and fears, they're warriors of affection, through the laughter and the tears. Surrender is foreign, in their hearts, it's not known, for their souls are intertwined, their love fully grown. Through nights' darkest depths and days' endless light, their love endures, unyielding in its might.
A florist he may not be, but love's language he speaks true, with every thorn, every petal, a promise he'll renew. As life's journey unfolds, and the path they both tread, he clasps her hand tighter, where love's eternally wed.
© All Rights Reserved
A symphony of feelings, orchestrated by a lovesick heart, each bloom chosen with care, a memory's work of art. Each petal, a moment; each stem, a cherished rhyme, a floral tapestry woven through the passage of time. A bouquet that breathes life into each fleeting day, whispers of sweet nothings, like tender words in May.
Yet one thorn-adorned blossom, it stood apart, a solitary yellow rose, the masterpiece of this heart. It symbolized her fervor, her beauty, and her strife, a paradox of sharpness, gentleness, and life. Amidst kisses of fervor and drops of sacrifice, they held on fiercely, as passion's flames entice.
He might not wear the florist's artistry's attire, but he's a connoisseur of thorns and love's undying fire. His grip, unwavering, through pain's tempestuous dance, for her, he'd face the thorns, take every loving chance. Beneath the cloak of darkness, as stars gleam from afar, their love stands as a beacon, transcending every scar.
In the tapestry of existence, through shadows and fears, they're warriors of affection, through the laughter and the tears. Surrender is foreign, in their hearts, it's not known, for their souls are intertwined, their love fully grown. Through nights' darkest depths and days' endless light, their love endures, unyielding in its might.
A florist he may not be, but love's language he speaks true, with every thorn, every petal, a promise he'll renew. As life's journey unfolds, and the path they both tread, he clasps her hand tighter, where love's eternally wed.
© All Rights Reserved
