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The Optimist
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innocence The heart of a rose is in her reflection
which is filled with thorns and scarry eyes
Beauty is true, without any pretention
disgraced perfection in it, lies
But why do we search for the scratches
in every task or thing we do
All of nature is in balance
We have our ways of being blue
At the end of day, I watch the sunset
with laughter, slowly fading away
The sky falls dark, all thats left
is a mystically colored lullabye.
