Sun bathes my rose in dewy sea.
Their thorny rows will duly see
The cotton joys, which float by me,
Shyly coy, as clouds can be.
Buzz by bees, my flying friends,
Ringing larks from branch-to-branch.
Worms wriggle up to grass from den
As squirrels lunge from hedge-to-hedge.
The pollen-call, which sweet, I hear
Wafts longingly from far to near,
To prickled rose, so joyful steers:
I settle on collared sunrises, here.
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