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Beauty
Years you spend
hoping,
dreaming,
blowing shimmering whispered wishes
into the night
to be ensnared
in the web of the stars.
Wishing that
someone --
anyone --
would come and sweep you
off your feet,
no matter who,
or why, or when.
Within you blossoms
of beauty,
of worth,
would bloom beneath their touch,
opened by the
brush of their lips
so soft against your own.
And then, one day, that changes.
That dream, once brilliant, fades
and withers, outshone by
the steady rays of maturity.
And you realize
someone kind,
someone gracious,
who would walk a hundred miles
just to hold you
close,
is what you deserve.
And on that day you see,
in rich
vivid hues,
your own blossoms
of beauty --
your own garden
of worth.
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