My Sweet Addict My Dove
A Akhtar Jawad
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The heart's flirts with the seven roses,
were merely impulses,
ended with the changing weathers,
but a rose of spring,
blossomed to live for ever,
you can see its dry petals,
kept carefully in the book of love!
The birds I saw in the garden,
merely inspirations,
ended in poems I wrote,
I stored beauty,
you can see a bird in my open cage,
drunk, not ready to go,
my sweet addict, my dove!
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