Dear Little Flower sitting, On the wooden plate I can’t help but wonder Why you glow, so red, Will it be, the squirrel Asked you out And now, you’re red with blush?
Oke’s Musings: Poetry, People and Places
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Dear Little Flower sitting, On the wooden plate I can’t help but wonder Why you glow, so red, Will it be, the squirrel Asked you out And now, you’re red with blush?
