Wednesday
ThursdayIt was a little budding rose,
Round like a fairy globe,
And shyly did its leaves unclose
Hid in their mossy robe,
But sweet was the slight and spicy smell
It breathed from its heart invisible.
A Little Budding Rose by Emily Bronté. For those of you familiar with the poem in its entirety you may understand why I wonder about Emily Bronté and her tales of deepest love. I'm sure that in her head she saw the dark as few do see it.
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But ah! he left the thorn wi' me.
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