Maybe I'm crazy for trying again
By the Lord's mercy, these butterflies are the bane of my existence
The smell of the golden sunshine is yet to leave my nose
 Thus, I'm not ready to get hurt again
And yet, like the rose, her aroma is rich with expectation
I'm not sure she's worth the sting of her thorns
The rain falls, a bumblebee laying beneath the petals
It's waiting, hopeful, unbothered by the cold
For a fool's  courage could only be equaled by the weight of his bad luck
The rain stopped and its wings had lost direction, her aroma is no more
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