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Leaves Of Roses

A racial profile begins
between black and white.
A silver moon ambles
as a prelude to dark music.

A winter night tosses hundred
for not lighting the lamps.

Words were still trying to
find the ropes.

You should know your boundaries.
The honeysuckle will
not graze your lips.

The salt of earth settles
in tears of dawn.
Satish written by

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