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A Little Flower
Kira Howe
10 Aug 2003
In my cell there is a flower But in the flower There is not a prison It is growing on the one sunned stone Where the moss has made a bed And little though the blue face is I speak to it And my voice is proud Were I to go away from here Would I miss the little flower That was witness to my sorrow? Yes, for Where the flower meets evil That is only the wildest of dreams That are known for dreams Before they are gone And though my little flower Is in my wretched prison My grief is not in the bloom
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