In the grim heat of an arid parched dune
She is the heart of a sanguine June
Among the chorus voices
That lauded just the moon
She adores the entire cosmos
And the sun has her swoon
In the illusion of the rainbow roses
The verses let the thorns speak
The Peony too has braved winters
But she sings of spring in a voice,
That has never been meek
The words have kept them alive
But they string them in moulds of pain
Disguised in robes of what-they-call-love
They damn them in poems
Time and again
But she loves without bounds
Even though her words are often sans sounds
Love has been Life and Life has been Love
She has cherished them, with words from her trove
With Love, her dreams are pearled
Perhaps she is not from the same world
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