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We are the garden in this world.
We live in endless nature whirl.
The pretty ones and homely sprouts.
All kinds of flowers for one's soul.

And each is different it's own way.
The ones are weak and barely stay.
The other ones are big and prideful.
And at first sight they are delightful.

The ones who want to be picked up.
And serve as beauty in the cup
The ones who stay away alone.
And want to be on their own.

The moral is: we are unique
Can not escape from the critique.
And they will judge you without doubt.
Despite your willing to stand out.

But strive for rose on this bloom land.
Alluring creature for man's hand.
And when you feel condemning touch.
Just bestow them with thorny clutch.

Stay brave yet modest, filled with grace.
You quickly are to find your place.
In this infinite garden plain.
Where people seed new, youngful grains.

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