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Her Name Is Grace

I'm a budding flower in the early hours of the morning.

The glowing of the sun's love at dawning.

I can't resist the way the clouds are highlighted.

It's a sight that makes my senses delighted.

I step outside and it rushes at me like I was magnetic.

As beautiful as it is, I want to fragment it.

The cold air doesn't hurt much.

Not after I give into it's refreshing touch.

Rain, rain come and play.

You wash the troubles of the world away.

The moon is my personal spotlight.

That follows me through the night.

The stars are my adoring crowd.

I enjoy making them proud.

They may have a merit.

But they don't deserve all credit.

Mother nature maybe a lady without a face.

But from what I've seen I'm guessing her name is Grace.

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