Though it Is
not Christmas,
Our birthdays
Though we had left to pass
On Others to rise
Free from fears
Of deaths and surmise,
Thou hath don't know why
Left for me, strawberries with sighs,
Thou hath told me not to starve,
Sweet in dreams with You
As I love myself and you,
You hath told me to do a View
Of Our risings to fight our hurts
If they are still there,
Some where falsely hidden
In our love laden Fields of Hearts.
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